


Promise

by Rhaellion



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Touching, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 75,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaellion/pseuds/Rhaellion
Summary: Nothing else mattered to Sansa than protecting her family. She didn't trust Daenerys but Tyrion did. His divided loyalties always stopped that odd feeling in her chest before it could manifest into something more. For his sake she hoped Daenerys was the ruler he believed her to be. As whispers from the South reach Winterfell, Sansa is forced to consider her own loyalties.
Relationships: Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 158
Kudos: 145





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Relief and fear fought for control of Sansa Stark as the dragon Queen took her army to Kings Landing.

She didn’t trust Daenerys.

At a glance the Queen was caring to those in need; she fought for the downtrodden. A liberator of people. Compassionate yet ruthless when needed.

There were few people Sansa trusted in the world, but Jon and Tyrion were two of them. They both believed in this Queen, they both loved her to varying degrees.

Sansa couldn’t trust her though. The years had taught her many things and reading people was one of them. There was a darkness in the dragon Queen that her followers were blind to.

“You’re going to Kings Landing aren’t you?” asked Sansa as the last of the host moved out of sight

“There’s still a name on my list”

“Keep an eye on Daenerys”

Arya raised an eyebrow “You don’t trust her either?”

“No, I don’t”

The South mattered little to Sansa now. The North was her home; her responsibility. Cersei and Daenerys weren’t to be trusted. One would destroy the other and when the ashes settled, decisions would be made. For now she would wait.

Protecting her family was the most important thing. They’d lost too much family over the years. Jon had a claim to the iron throne and Daenerys knew - she would see him as a threat.

“Keep Jon safe” she said

“Obviously”

“Whatever else she is, Daenerys inspires blind devotion in her followers. Don’t let Jon get trapped by her”

“Anything else?” prompted Arya “No-one else you need updates on?”

_‘Maybe we should have stayed married’_

Sansa’s mouth went dry as a certain face drifted through her mind. The crypts. Fighting the dead. A lion at her side, and the softest kiss on her hand.

“No. Just keep me updated” she said finally

There was something else, but Sansa wouldn’t allow the thought to continue. Her priority was her family. Loyalties had already been decided; there was nothing to do but wait.

* * *

“They have Missandei”

Daenerys was glaring at him as if it was his fault. He hadn’t attacked the ships. It wasn’t him that shot Rhaegal from the sky.

Tyrion shifted in his seat, his hand fiddling with the badge that marked him hand of the Queen “We will rescue her, my Queen. She is a valuable hostage – Cersei will not harm her”

“Missandei is very important to me” said Daenerys, sharing a look with Grey Worm “I cannot lose her. I’ve already lost Ser Jorah”

It had been a particularly difficult time for the Queen since she returned to Westeros. Two of her dragons were dead, Ser Jorah was dead and now her closest friend had been taken by Cersei. She’d been a bit more volatile than usual but that was to be expected given her losses. Things would be better when she sat the Iron Throne.

“You won’t lose anyone else” said Tyrion, placing his hand over hers “We will rescue Missandei and you will sit the Iron Throne”

The dragon Queen’s violet eyes appraised him “I will, no matter the cost. You’ll help me won’t you Tyrion? Your loyalty is to me”

“Of course it is my Queen”

Tyrion smiled reassuringly. Banished from his home and hunted by his family, Daenerys had given him a purpose again. He might not agree with everything she did; she was perhaps a bit too ruthless where there was room for mercy, but he believed in her. Tyrion had been ready to give up on himself in Essos when she allowed him to join her. She trusted him enough to name him hand.

That was the proudest moment of his life. He wasn’t filling a position meant for someone else - he’d earned Daenerys trust himself. It wasn’t because of his family’s name but in spite of it that he was named hand of the Queen.

Daenerys had trusted him when no-one else in the world wanted him. He loved her in his own way - not as Jon did - but he cared deeply for her. Tyrion had bent the knee to the dragon Queen, he believed in her; despite their differences the past few weeks he wouldn’t fail her now.

* * *

“What do you see Bran?”

“Nothing good”

Sansa sighed, observing her brother sat across from her “Are Jon and Arya alright?”

“They are. Arya observes from the shadows. Jon travels towards Dragonstone” said Bran, his dark eyes studying her “The ships were attacked. One of the dragons is dead. Missandei has been taken by Cersei”

“Cersei will use her against Daenerys”

“Perhaps” said Bran

“I bear Missandei no ill will, but all I care about is our family surviving” she said, moving her gaze to the hearth between them

“I can’t tell you the future”

“It’s the present I need to know. If Jon and Arya are in danger I will call the banners”

Bran nodded, folding his hands in his lap as Sansa’s mind wandered through all the ways this could develop.

“Aren’t you going to ask about him?”

Something stirred in Sansa’s chest, and she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it “Who?”

Bran’s mouth turned downwards “You can’t deny it Sansa”

She could and would deny it. Sansa’s face was a mask of calm and composure, even as her stomach twisted with worry. This was ridiculous. There was no reason she should care about him.

Warm green eyes flitted through her mind; watching her with admiration and not the pity she usually got from men who knew how she’d been abused. The Northern lords and ladies were kind to her; they respected her. Yet she knew they saw her as the Bolton bastards play thing. A damaged woman.

There was one man who didn’t; who treated her as if she wasn’t broken.

A man who’d devoted himself to the dragon Queen. If nothing else Tyrion was her friend; for his sake she hoped Daenerys was all he believed her to be.

* * *

Sweat trickled down Tyrion’s back as they approached Kings Landing.

“Are you ready, lord hand?” asked his Queen

He was stood beside her as the gates loomed ahead of them. Grey Worm was barking orders to the unsullied as they took up position.

“Yes, your Grace” he said, twisting his hands nervously

Daenerys smiled at him, grasping his chin and tilting his head to look at her “Your courage will not be forgotten”

Tyrion nodded “You’ll come for me?”

“Of course” said Daenerys, violet eyes burning into him “I promise. When Missandei is safe you will be free”

It was the right thing to do. They had a plan.

Daenerys had ordered Varys to make contact with Cersei. An exchange would be made – him for Missandei. The master of whisperers didn’t like the plan, but there was nothing he could do. Daenerys and Tyrion were in agreement.

A flicker of doubt gnawed at his heart. Daenerys had asked him to do this, promising she would send unsullied to free him as soon as Missandei was safe. Varys had brought the offer to his sister and she’d accepted. Missandei was an innocent woman; a former slave – Daenerys said she’d suffered enough.

Tyrion could survive a little while with his sister. Cersei might hate him, lock him away – but she wouldn’t hurt him. She’d had the chance to do that after the meeting in the Dragon Pit and she hadn’t.

Daenerys was worried for her friend; she trusted him to succeed. Still a voice that reminded him of Sansa whispered a warning. That the dragon Queen couldn’t be trusted.

“Are you certain?” asked Tyrion “We could attack now and free Missandei – break the deal”

Daenerys’s eyes darkened “We discussed this. I won’t risk Missandei in a fight”

“Oh...I understand” he said looking at his feet

Warm lips pressed against his cheek a moment later “You’re a lion and you’re my hand. I need to protect Missandei but you can survive. Be brave for me; I’ll come back for you - I promise”

Heat spread from Tyrion’s face to his toes, silencing the whispers of doubt. He stood a little taller as they headed towards the gate. Daenerys was a Queen protecting her people. She wouldn’t break her promise to him.

* * *

Sansa’s hand trembled reading Arya’s letter.

_Missandei safe. Jon arrived at Dragonstone. Daenerys wants fire and blood – Jon and Varys can’t convince her otherwise._

Short and to the point; much like her sister.

All of Arya’s updates were much the same. She’d heard Cersei had Missandei, but how had she escaped?

It was no use; she would need to ask Bran for details. The few updates Arya had sent mentioned Jon several times, but she’d heard nothing of Tyrion. Surely he was trying to reason with his Queen?

Sansa ground her teeth together; she was sure Arya was doing this on purpose.

Tyrion would be laughing if he was here now. It amused him to see her composure slip in the face of her little sister.

When Sansa made her way to Bran’s room, her brother showed no surprise at her visit – or what she wanted to know.

“How did they free Missandei?”

“Daenerys offered Tyrion in exchange” he said simply

An icy terror wrapped around Sansa’s heart “She gave him to Cersei?”

“Tyrion agreed” said Bran “She promised to free him as soon as Missandei was safe. Varys has spies within the Red Keep still. They had a plan”

“When will she free him?” asked Sansa

Bran’s dark eyes were full of pity “She won’t”

* * *

Tyrion shifted awkwardly in his restraints, trying to find a slightly more comfortable position. It had been three days since the exchange. Missandei had looked terrified as they passed each other which had steeled his resolve. This was the right thing to do. As soon as the guards took hold of him he’d been hauled away. Tyrion had cast one final look back at Daenerys, but she wasn’t watching him as her host retreated. The sight of his Queen walking away from him sent his stomach into knots, but he trusted her. Daenerys was a good person – they had a plan.

As expected he’d been placed in chains and thrown before his sister. Cersei’s face was twisted in a smirk as she sat the Iron Throne that would soon belong to his Queen.

“Welcome home little brother. Your new Queen was quite eager to get rid of you” she’d said “We’re going to have such fun”

Tyrion ignored his sister’s taunts. Daenerys would come for him – she promised.

Cersei had locked him away deep in the black cells. His hands and feet were chained to the wall in a room little bigger than a cupboard and totally devoid of light. It had been three days since then. What was taking so long? They’d gone over the plan several times. Varys had spies to help direct the unsullied to free him. They would enter through some of the hidden passages Varys knew of. It would be a covert mission. When he was back at his Queen’s side they would seize the Iron Throne.

Daenerys would be here any time now. He curled into himself against the biting cold of the cell. Just a little longer.

Daenerys valued him – she named him hand after all. She wouldn’t forget him.

* * *

“Why is your sister leading an army south?” asked Daenerys as she sat with her council

Jon looked at her with sad eyes “She’s coming to support her Queen, your Grace”

The dragon Queen considered this development – she didn’t like Sansa. The lady of Winterfell was colder than winter and hadn’t treated her as one should a Queen.

“Your Grace, may I ask why we haven’t moved to free lord Tyrion yet? My little birds know where he’s being held” said Varys

Daenerys straightened up. Jon and Missandei had asked her this as well over the past few days – it was time they knew.

“We aren’t freeing lord Tyrion”

Jon’s dark eyes flashed with anger “What do you mean? You promised to free him didn’t you?”

“Your Grace, he offered himself to save me. Surely we should rescue him – he’s your hand after all” said Missandei, her eyes filled with guilt

Daenerys jaw clenched “Tyrion made too many mistakes. Did you see him at Winterfell? He was too close to Sansa and his brother. I can’t trust him anymore”

“So you’re going to leave him to die?” asked Jon in disbelief

“He was going to die anyway after all his mistakes. Exchanging him for Missandei was a mercy. He’s served his Queen and we will all remember his sacrifice” she said, spreading her hands

Grey Worm was unreadable but Daenerys knew he’d understand - his love for Missandei was obvious to see. Missandei appeared upset, but Daenerys understood – she’d suffered quite an ordeal after all. It was Jon and Varys that worried her. The two exchanged a look she couldn’t quite figure out.

“If that matter is sorted there are bigger problems that need our attention” said Daenerys, drawing their attention “Sansa Stark is travelling here and I want to know why”

* * *

“You look disappointed brother”

“What do you care?” he snapped

Cersei was stood watching him, a cruel smile spread over her face “I don’t. You actually thought that foreign whore would come for you?”

Tyrion wouldn’t meet her gaze. It had been four days and there was no sign of a rescue. He’d been left forgotten in his cell the whole time. A few meagre pieces of food and some water had been thrown into him, but he was starving. The cell was cold and dark.

“What do you want Cersei?”

His sister bent down, grasping his face “To finally get my revenge on you little brother”

“It’s taken you four days to think of that?”

“Qyburn thought it best to wait. If your Queen was going to try and free you I’d have executed you publicly so she could watch. Qyburn has his own little birds you see - I know they’re not coming for you”

Tyrion screwed his eyes shut, jerking against his restraints “That’s not true. She’s not like you!”

Cersei smirked down at him, releasing his face “Deny it all you want; but I’m not lying”

It couldn’t be true - Daenerys cared for him. She wouldn’t break her promise. Everything he’d done since returning to Westeros had been to build her support; to get people to believe in her the way he did. She had never scorned him for being a dwarf or a Lannister - she’d given him the acceptance he’d always been denied.

Something must have happened. Daenerys wouldn’t give up - they’d be here soon.

“Now on to your punishment” said Cersei, gesturing to the guards stood outside the cell “You destroyed my family; now I’ll destroy you. My last prisoners were those Dornish whores and they didn’t last long. I had a Septa before that - didn’t last long either. Qyburn assures me he can keep you alive long enough to experience pain in every possible way I can imagine”

“Daenerys will kill you if you hurt me” he said

His sister laughed, her green eyes glinting with cruelty “Don’t you understand little brother? You’re nothing. There isn’t a soul in the world that cares what I do to you”

“Jamie” he said. His brother would care if no-one else did.

At their brother’s name Cersei’s face twisted into a snarl “You stole him away from me”

“He’s better without you - you’re nothing but poison to him”

Cersei’s eyes narrowed as she turned to leave the cell “Guards, take the imp to Qyburn’s _special_ room. It won’t do to have his screams echoing around the Red Keep”

Tyrion swallowed thickly as two men loomed over him.

Daenerys was coming - she promised.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The wheelhouse trundled along far too slowly for Sansa’s liking. Riding would be quicker but Bran had insisted on coming and the march to Dragonstone would take over two weeks.

“All the banners answered your call” said Bran, studying her across the wheelhouse

“As they should – they’re pledged to house Stark after all”

“They didn’t answer Jon’s calls. The Knights of the Vale ride with us too. They respect you more than Jon”

Sansa sighed “They do respect Jon, but he bent the knee to Daenerys – the people don’t trust her”

“You don’t trust her”

It wasn’t a question. Sansa had her doubts about the dragon Queen since she met her, but recent events had proven her right.

“What are you going to do at Dragonstone?” asked Bran

“Talk to Daenerys”

“About Tyrion”

Sansa’s hands curled into fists “He was loyal to her and she betrayed him. That tells me everything I need to know about the kind of Queen she would be. I won’t let my family suffer”

The sadness in Bran’s eyes sent ice down Sansa’s spine “Tyrion suffers”

* * *

A shudder went through Tyrion as he once again emptied the contents of his stomach in his tiny cell. Where was Daenerys?

 _‘They’re not coming for you’_ taunted Cersei’s voice

Tyrion leaned back against the wall, screwing his eyes shut as the nausea rolled through him. It had been hours since Cersei poisoned him. He had to admit, part of him didn’t think his sister would actually carry through on the threat. She hated him – that was beyond doubt. When he’d gone to her after the dragon pit meeting she could have killed him and hadn’t.

Something had changed, and he suspected it was Jamie leaving that finally snapped what little sanity she had left. The smirk on Cersei’s face hadn’t changed for an instant as he was strapped down to Qyburn’s ‘examination’ table and some sort of poison was forced down his throat.

“You killed my boy with poison” she’d said as a fire ignited in his body

Tyrion had told her again it wasn’t him while his throat constricted, as if the life was being choked from him.

“Don’t worry little brother” she’d said, grinning down as he writhed in the restraints “this won’t kill you -Qyburn has done a lot of work on poisons in saving Ser Gregor”

The black-robed Maester had watched Tyrion’s increasing distress as one might a dying animal. His interest was academic and nothing more.

Tyrion didn’t know how long his body burned for – his throat had tightened in agony until he could barely pull any breath into his lungs and he was certain his end had come. His older sister had watched on with satisfaction, finally nodding to Qyburn who forced some foul smelling liquid down his throat.

Weak and shaky, he’d been brought back to his cell and chained up again while his body tried to purge whatever poison had attacked it.

It had been nearly five days since the exchange, why hadn’t anybody come to rescue him?

Cersei’s taunting words played over in his mind. It wasn’t possible – Daenerys cared for him, she would come.

* * *

“I want to attack Kings Landing straight away”

Silence met Daenerys announcement as she sat the throne at Dragonstone.

“Is that truly wise, your Grace?” asked Varys “Many of our troops are weary from the long journey. Patience in this situation may be best”

“I’ve waited long enough” she said, turning to Grey Worm “Are the unsullied ready to attack?”

“Always” he said.

Grey Worm’s answer was automatic and expected, though Daenerys noticed the way his eyes shifted to Missandei – who still seemed rather shaken after her captivity. The girl had asked her again if they could rescue Tyrion, saying it didn’t seem right to leave him in enemy hands. Daenerys had been quick to reassure her it wasn’t her fault. Tyrion had become a loose end – he would have died anyway. Missandei had accepted her answer though the Queen didn’t miss the guilt in her eyes. That was nothing to worry about, it would fade in time.

“Your Grace, you should trust your advisors” said Jon. With his dark hair and eyes he looked more wolf than dragon.

“I did and they disappointed me”

“Are you going to sell us to Cersei too?”

Daenerys wrinkled her nose “Of course not. Are you still upset about that? Tyrion agreed to go”

“Aye, but you said you’d rescue him”

Why didn’t Jon understand? He was a dragon like her. The wolves had gotten to him. He needed to wake the dragon. She wished she never knew about Jon’s true parentage. The Queen sighed, he was a loose end too – but she wasn’t willing to give up yet. When the dragon woke in him he would understand. 

“My Queen, Cersei is hurting him” said Varys, shuffling forward with his head bowed “the songs my little birds have been singing are far from pleasant”

“I’ve made my decision perfectly clear” she said, narrowing her eyes. They forgot themselves; she was Queen “I’m ready to take what is mine. Why would I waste another moment here when I could take my true throne?”

Jon and Varys shared a look; before Jon stepped forwards “My sister is bringing troops to support you”

“She wasn’t very supportive at Winterfell”

“Sansa suffered a lot, I’m sure you understand. Trust is hard for her”

Daenerys nodded. There were aspects of her history that were similar to Sansa’s – she’d thought they might bond over it. 

“I have enough troops to take Kings Landing. I have Drogon. Why wait for a few thousand more men?” she said

“Taking the throne with the trueborn Starks at your side along with the rest of your supporters will show the people you have united a divided Westeros. The North has been in rebellion against the crown for years” said Varys

She turned to Jon “You’re certain we can trust your sister?”

“Aye. Sansa is my family and Bran is coming with her”

Daenerys barely supressed a shudder; there was something creepy about the Stark boy.

The dragon Queen mulled over their words. There was truth in what Varys said, she supposed. If Tyrion was here he’d probably agree. She’d have to find a new hand when she took the throne. Ser Jorah would have been her first choice but he was gone.

Perhaps she didn’t need a hand at all. Tyrion had been useful enough but his mistakes had soon outweighed any value he had.

“Very well” she decided “we will wait for your sister to arrive and take the Iron Throne as a united force”

Jon and Varys looked utterly relieved at the decision, which seemed rather odd to Daenerys. She’d have to watch the eunuch. She’d never trusted him but Tyrion had, in some ways he was a culpable as Tyrion for the errors that had occurred.

* * *

They were a week away from Dragonstone when the letter arrived.

“Ser Jamie Lannister has been captured. The dragon Queen wants fire and blood” read Sansa

Brienne had told her in a few words that Jamie left Winterfell for Cersei. The Knight had been as stoic about it as Sansa had come to expect, but it wasn’t hard to see the hurt behind the mask.

“Is that all?” asked Brienne, her blue eyes staring at the back of the paper in Sansa’s hand. She wanted more news on Jamie - that much was obvious.

It wasn’t all, but Sansa couldn’t bring herself to repeat the line she’d just read. The words had cut through her in a way she’d never expected, giving life to the stirrings she’d tried to drown out these past weeks. No, she couldn’t go there. Going there was dangerous - emotion was dangerous.

“That’s it” she said, crumpling the note in her hand

“Who is the letter from?” asked lord Royce

“Varys”

“Can the spider be trusted?” asked Brienne “he serves the dragon Queen”

“No” she said with a sigh “but I don’t think he’s lying. He serves Daenerys but he doubts her”

Bran nodded “He knows what she is”

Lord Royce paled “Lady Sansa, do you intend for us to fight with the dragon Queen?”

It was a good question. She’d called the banners and told Jon she would join them at Dragonstone. Arya’s letters had grown increasingly worrying; word was spreading that the dragon Queen was unstable. 

“I intend to save my family” she said “We will reassess the situation at Dragonstone”

Brienne bit her lip “What of Ser Jamie?”

“The Kingslayer is as good as dead” grumbled lord Royce “She wanted to kill him at Winterfell”

Seeing the panic in Brienne’s face Sansa tried to offer some hope “Perhaps not. Ser Jamie is a valuable hostage - the only person Cersei is likely to care about”

All around them the Northerners and Knights of the Vale readied to break camp and continue the march. Brienne and lord Royce moved off to continue their preparations for departure, until only Bran remained.

“We’ll be at Dragonstone soon” he said

“Will it be soon enough?”

“Depends on what you want”

“I want to protect our family; for us all to go home” she said, gazing into her brothers dark eyes.

There was another reason too. One she dared not voice. When Varys first wrote to her she was suspicious, but he seemed honest enough with her. Whatever he told her matched up with what Arya reported. Unlike her sister, Varys gave her updates on their ‘mutual friend’ and each one only increased her urgency to reach Dragonstone. Today’s words had been particularly blunt.

_‘Cersei wants revenge - she hurts him every day’_

Daenerys had betrayed a man who was loyal to her; she couldn’t be trusted to not turn on Jon and Arya. Sansa had marched south to protect her family. It was as simple as that. 

* * *

Tyrion laid his head against the cold stone of his cell, hoping it might ease the fire burning through him.

Three times he’d been taken from his cell and forced to ingest different poisons.

The first had been for Joffrey. Tyrion’s throat had closed to the point he’d felt his life slipping away until Cersei ordered Qyburn to stop. It was a version of the strangler, the failed Maester had told him. The strangler was a deadly poison, yet somehow Qyburn had modified it - Cersei didn’t want him to die yet.

Barely recovered from his first poisoning, Tyrion had been hauled back to Qyburn’s rooms where he was given the long farewell. Cersei’s cruel face had blurred in his vision as the poison took effect, though he knew what she was saying. This poison had killed Myrcella. Tyrion had loved his niece; he never wanted her to get hurt.

The last time had been for Tommen. His sweet nephew had killed himself; but Tyrion wasn’t allowed to die yet. Tyrion didn’t know what poison was used on him - he only knew it made his heart pound so badly he thought it might break through his chest. Every inch of him had throbbed as if he’d been badly beaten - he supposed that was the point.

Each time he’d been strapped to that god forsaken table with his older sister watching as he writhed in agony. Each time Qyburn administered an antidote before it could kill him.

It was getting harder to believe Daenerys was coming for him. It had been about a week and there’d been no sign of an attempted rescue. Something must have happened - she wouldn’t leave him to suffer. They were friends. Daenerys had been so worried for Missandei; surely she was worried for him to?

Tyrion curled into himself as much as the chains allowed.

_‘You know why I like you Tyrion? You’re not a hero’_

No, he wasn’t a hero. Hearing Daenerys say it so bluntly hadn’t been pleasant though. She’d sent him to the crypts with the women and children during the long night too. Daenerys liked strong men like Drogo, Jon Snow, Daario.

While he knew there would never be anything romantic between him and Daenerys it had certainly hurt his pride to be dismissed as weak. Perhaps when he was at her side again she’d see him differently. He could endure this. Daenerys was loyal to those loyal to her - she wouldn’t forget him.

The cell door creaked open and Cersei swept into the dank cell, a guard holding a torch behind her that cast a dim light into the room. Her green eyes were dark and dangerous as she looked down at him.

“It appears our brother has saved you again little monster”

Tyrion tilted his head “Jamie’s here?”

“No, your Queen has him” she said and for a moment concern flashed in her eyes before it was replaced by the usual hatred “We will offer an exchange. You for Jamie - though he’s worth a hundred of you”

Tyrion’s heart leapt. There must have been problems with their original plan, but exchanging him for Jamie would work just as well. He had no wish for his older brother to be near Cersei again, but at least she wouldn’t hurt her twin.

Perhaps Jamie was in on the plan? Could he be working with Daenerys?

His mind pondered the possibilities as Cersei’s lip curled in distaste “Don’t look so pleased little brother. I will win this war and your head will decorate my wall sooner or later”

“You won’t win” he said, his voice far weaker than he intended

She smiled “I always win”

* * *

“Step aside” said Jon “I’m here to see the prisoner”

The unsullied guards considered for a moment before moving aside. They knew he was close to the Queen; that she trusted him. Since Daenerys had given Tyrion over to Cersei things had changed. The Queen they all believed in had left one of her advisors in enemy hands - there had been mutterings about the decision through her ranks.

Jon wandered through the bowels of Dragonstone in search of the cell that held Jamie Lannister.

Daenerys didn’t realise it but she’d made her own biggest mistake in not rescuing Tyrion. Missandei was guilt-ridden and her emotions were affecting Grey Worm. The Queen’s most loyal and trusted unsullied captain seemed unable to understand her decision. Jon understood. Grey Worm was a soldier and he would not leave any of his men behind. He suspected Missandei had softened him somewhat, but betraying Tyrion had clearly shaken some of his most deeply held beliefs.

It was in the darkest corner of the prison Jon found Jamie Lannister. His golden hand had been removed and he was shackled to the wall, still he smirked as Jon approached.

“The King in the North, I’m honoured you came to visit”

“Why did you leave Winterfell?”

“My sister is in Kings Landing” he said

“The rumours are true”

“Did your head freeze at the wall?” said Jamie, his brow wrinkling “I thought the whole seven kingdoms knew by now”

Jon curled his hand into a fist “Daenerys wants to kill you”

“That’s what her father would have done” he agreed

“Your sister has offered an exchange. You for Tyrion”

At that the smirk dropped from the Lannister Knights face “I’ve heard the most disturbing tales down here, you know”

“Like what?” said Jon, shifting on the spot

“I heard my little brother offered himself in exchange for some girl. Very noble of him. I also heard your Queen promised to free him and then changed her mind”

Jon ground his teeth, tension winding through him “She’s our Queen. We follow her orders”

“Even when you know it’s wrong? You Starks are all the same” bit out Ser Jamie, slumping against the wall “What is honour when a King burns people alive and laughs? What is an oath to a madman when thousands could die?”

“Daenerys isn’t like that”

“No? You don’t seem convinced”

“Tyrion believed in her”

“Ah, yes. My poor little brother. He’d do anything for acceptance – you should understand that bastard”

Jon wasn’t a bastard anymore. He’d always wanted to be more than that, yet now it brought him no pleasure. If anything it had made everything worse.

“Why are you here Jon Snow?” asked Ser Jamie “We both know I’m a dead man”

“I told you Cersei offered an exchange”

“Has your dragon Queen accepted?”

The Lannister searched his face before settling back in his chains. Jon had nothing to say. They’d all tried to convince Daenerys to take the deal – the Queen had yet to decide.

“You poor bastard” said Jamie, a laugh escaping him “You know what she’ll do. Denying it doesn’t make it any easier. When she burns people alive and you stand watching; it doesn’t get any easier. She’s worse than her father”

“How can you say that Kingslayer? The mad King was cruel; he deserved to die. Daenerys isn’t a butcher”

Ser Jamie’s green eyes narrowed “She will be. Mark my words boy the signs are there. Not worse than her father yet perhaps, but the mad King didn’t have a dragon. Kings Landing would have been ashes if he had”

The words washed over Jon like a dark prophecy. This wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. He didn’t know what he’d wanted to hear, or why he came down here; but it wasn’t to add voices to the whispering doubts in his mind.

He turned away from Jamie, taking a few steps back down the corridor when the man’s voice reached him “Do me a favour? When I’m a pile of ashes, see that you rescue my brother. I love Cersei but she is cruel and spiteful and when I die any restraint she still has will die too”

Jon swept down the corridor, forcing the thoughts out of his mind. He was half way down the corridor when Arya materialised from the shadows.

“He’s right” she said, dropping into step beside Jon. He’d given up being surprised at her skills; things were strange enough as it was.

“We don’t know what the Queen will do yet”

“Yes we do” said Arya, fiddling with needle at her hip

Jon sighed, the weight of responsibility settling heavily over him “What do we tell Sansa?”

“The truth”

“The last thing we need is more tension between Daenerys and Sansa”

“Sansa will be here in a week Jon. We both know why she’s marching south”

He suspected the reason why; it had been easy enough to notice at Winterfell. Finding Sansa and Tyrion working together in the library. The way his sister smiled around the Queen’s hand.

“What would you have me do?” he said, rubbing his beard “I’ll speak to Varys and try and make Daenerys see reason again. Losing Ser Jorah and Rhaegal hit her hard – she’s a good person”

Arya stared at him with watchful grey eyes “You need to choose Jon”

“I choose my family; always”

Arya nodded “I hope so”

* * *

After so many days with little food and water Tyrion could barely stand as he was brought to the throne room. The poisons and subsequent vomiting had left him weak and shaky; fortunately Cersei had left him alone since she mentioned the exchange.

The guards pulled him into the throne room where Cersei sat the Iron Throne. Her face was twisted in a deep hatred; and something else. Were her eyes red?

“The offer was brought to your foreign whore” said Cersei, voice oddly emotionless “Do you think she wants you back?”

Tyrion lifted his chin “Of course. She’s loyal, and good – nothing like you”

Cersei nodded to a guard who handed her a cloth covered package. She pulled the cloth free and tossed the object at Tyrion’s feet, the item clunking against the floor.

“She refused the offer” whispered Cersei “She sent me this”

Tyrion didn’t want to see, but his eyes seemed to work on their own accord until they found the item Cersei had thrown at him.

The room swayed around Tyrion as he stared at the golden hand.

He barely heard Cersei’s order for the guards to seize him. Nothing else mattered anymore. A tiny voice in his mind whispered it might be a trick, but he was too logical for that.

There had been nothing wrong with the original plan.

Daenerys hadn’t tried to rescue him – it was possible she’d never intended to. When offered an exchange for him she’d refused. The throne room shrank around Tyrion as his eyes moved from the golden hand to Cersei’s face.

This was no trick.

Daenerys didn’t care for him. No-one was going to save him.

The Queen he’d sworn to serve had killed his brother.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Tyrion cried until no more tears would fall.

His brother was dead – killed by the Queen he’d trusted. Daenerys had been his friend.

After the golden hand was thrown at his feet Tyrion remembered very little of the journey back to his cell. It didn’t matter anymore. No-one was going to come for him, and with Jamie’s death there truly was no-one left who cared.

Anger boiled through him as he thought of Daenerys. He thought she was different; he’d believed in her – and she’d tossed him aside as if he meant nothing.

It was the next day when Cersei came to him. Her green eyes were no longer rimmed in red, but the hatred in them burned brighter than ever.

“You killed Jamie” she said

“I would never hurt Jamie” he sniffed “you know that”

Chained to the wall, Tyrion couldn’t move as Cersei’s hand collided with his face. The smack echoed in the small cell, and suddenly his sister’s face filled his vision as her fingers dug painfully into his jaw.

“Understand this you hateful little imp; you will suffer for what you’ve done. I’m going to kill the dragon bitch and then I’ll break you apart piece by piece”

Tyrion suppressed a shudder at the coldness in his sister’s eyes. He knew she was cruel, that she hated him – but Jamie’s death had erased whatever tiny piece of her soul remained.

“I’m your brother” he said “Jamie wouldn’t want this”

Cersei eyes narrowed to slits “You dare speak my brother’s name?”

“He was my brother too”

“No. You don’t belong, you never did” said Cersei, her voice rising “You took everything from me. You killed Mother, Father; my beautiful children. Jamie was all I had left and you killed him too”

“No I didn’t!” he protested, heat burning at his eyes “I’d never hurt the children or Jamie”

“They’re all dead because of you” she hissed “I swear to you little monster, I will dedicate the rest of my life to repaying the debt”

Tyrion tried to pull his face away, grief bubbling through him. He’d loved Tommen and Myrcella, they’re deaths had broke his heart.

“What’s wrong?” mocked Cersei “Aren’t you going to tell me how your Queen will rescue you. How she’s good and kind and wouldn’t possibly leave you behind”

Cersei relinquished his face, her hand moving to his filthy tunic. When she straightened up, the hand of the Queen badge sat in her hand.

“You were so proud of this” she said, her face twisting in disgust “The dragon whore is pretty - I’ll give you that. Did you really think she cared about you?”

Tyrion said nothing, his throat tightening as her words seeped through him.

“I’ll make sure the lesson sinks in this time” said Cersei, closing her hand around the pin “I have business to attend to but I’ll make time for you later. You are nothing. Not a lion, not a Queen’s hand or a lord. I always told Jamie what you were and he wouldn’t listen – now he’s dead because of you. There is no-one left in the world that will care what I do to you; but you’ll suffer anyway”

Tyrion was dimly aware of Cersei leaving as darkness engulfed him once again, but he didn’t have the energy to care. How had he been so foolish? Agreeing to Daenerys plan so readily – believing with all his heart she meant to save him.

His sister was cruel, callous and more than a little mad – but she was right.

The rest of his miserable life would be spent in pain and not a soul alive would care.

* * *

No-one dared to comment when a strangled sob broke from Brienne and she excused herself from the tent. Sansa would give her sworn shield all the time she needed. Despite what Jamie Lannister was and how he left Winterfell, Brienne had clearly cared for him.

“Is this information accurate?” asked lord Royce

“Varys and Arya have both written to me” said Sansa, eyeing the two letters sat in front of her. The words were few but the ramifications could be deadly

“I saw it too” said Bran, drawing uneasy glances from the assembled lords

“The dragon Queen means to provoke Cersei” said lord Royce

“An exchange was offered” said Sansa, a bitter taste in her mouth “Cersei offered to swap Tyrion for Jamie”

“And the dragon Queen burned him alive instead” said lord Royce, shifting in his seat “Daenerys can’t be trusted. The Lannister dwarf was one of her most trusted advisors”

Lord Glover exchanged glances with a few of the other Northern lords “You can’t intend for us to fight with Daenerys? She’s as mad as her father”

“No, I don’t” said Sansa, pushing down the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. There was no time to deal with that now “We need to get to Dragonstone. We can’t take Kings Landing alone”

“So we will join Daenerys?” asked lord Royce, his brow furrowing

“No” said Bran, sympathy in his brown eyes as he stared at her “We need her armies”

Sansa said nothing, eyeing the messages from both Varys and Arya.

Her little sister had been brief and pointed.

_Jamie Lannister burned alive. Mutterings grow louder. Jon knows but won’t accept the truth._

Varys words were more layered, but Sansa understood the meaning; she only wished she hadn’t.

_The dragon burns the lion, and our friend’s situation turns deadly._

* * *

The wolf girl was making Daenerys nervous. Arya Stark had come south with them but she wasn’t certain the girl was truly with them. If Daenerys saw her at all she was skulking about in the shadows, her strange grey eyes studying her from a distance. Even now the girl watched from the side of the throne room. She tolerated Arya Stark for Jon.

Jon who was pacing moodily in front of her.

“Why burn Ser Jamie? He was valuable as a hostage”

“He killed my father”

“Aye – the mad King. You said you weren’t your father”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes “I’m not. Jamie was a threat and now he’s ashes”

Jon stopped his pacing, his wolf eyes widening at her “You killed the only leverage we had over Cersei”

“We don’t need leverage. I have a dragon; unsullied and Dothraki troops. I have your men and when Sansa arrives I’ll have hers too” she said, hardening her tone “Won’t I?”

“Yes, your Grace” said Jon, his shoulders slumping “We could have used Jamie to manipulate Cersei”

“I’ve had quite enough of clever plans. Tyrion was overly fond of them”

Somehow the mention of her former hand caused a ripple of unease through the room. Daenerys didn’t understand why. Grey Worm had a sour look on his face and Missandei was fidgeting with her hands. She’d explained many times why he needed to go – there shouldn’t be any doubt.

“Your Grace, killing Jamie Lannister killed any hope of negotiating with Cersei” said Jon, drawing her attention “She has nothing left now. How do you intend to take the throne?”

Daenerys smiled, straightening in her seat “With fire and blood”

“People will die” said Jon, a shadow passing over his face “innocent people” 

She scrunched up her nose “Only those who oppose me. I’m freeing them from a tyrant Jon. You understand that don’t you?”

The Queen studied her fellow dragon’s face; his eyes filled with sadness as he nodded “Aye, I understand”

Daenerys allowed herself to smile. Things had been strange between her and Jon, but it would be better when she sat the throne. There was too much wolf in him – waking the dragon would take time.

* * *

Tyrion didn’t like the look on the guards’ faces as they led him out of the Red Keep and tossed him into a litter. His hands were chained together as were his feet, giving him no hope of escape as he was carted off. Since becoming Cersei’s prisoner he’d been given just enough food and drink to keep him alive but whatever strength he had was long gone. He knew Kings Landing well, but the litter had no windows and other than the sound of guards and horses outside he could hear nothing.

It was odd for a city as large as kings Landing but they were under threat of attack by Daenerys. It surprised Tyrion she hadn’t attacked yet – patience wasn’t her strong point. Not that he cared anymore. Betraying him and killing his brother had twisted whatever love he’d had for Daenerys into an ugly reflection. He would gladly kill her if he could.

The litter came to an abrupt stop and before Tyrion could wonder where he was, the door opened and he was pulled out into the light of day. The sun hurt his eyes after so long in the dark of his cell, but he noticed his sister immediately. She stood in the centre of the Dragon Pit, Qyburn at her side. The ruins of the once great Dragon Pit were packed with people as if waiting for a show. Hundreds of eyes burned into him as he stood in the midday sun.

The glint in Cersei’s eyes as he was pulled towards her caused his stomach to lurch; he was the show.

“People of Kings Landing, I thank you for joining me today where we take another step forwards in the war for our kingdom” started Ceresi as Tyrion’s feet and hands were unchained. Immediately his hands were twisted and locked in place behind his back - attached by a short length of chain to a post not far from his sister.

“I know these past months have been fraught. A foreign invader has come to kill you – to burn everything you love to nothing. That is why it pleases me so to give you this gift”

Cersei’s hand spread towards him, a smirk puling at her face. His heart sped up; this was it – a public execution.

“This creature has betrayed you, betrayed us all for his foreign Queen. He was born and raised as my kin but I loathe him as much as you. He was the dragon Queen’s hand and even she didn’t want him”

Tyrion’s cheeks burned as he tugged hopelessly at his restraints. He hated being the centre of attention like this – it was like the trial for Joffrey’s murder all over again. He’d saved these people from Stannis once, and they’d turned on him without a second thought.

“For all the crimes of this little beast it is only right he atone for his sins” said Cersei.

The Queen nodded to her guards and Tyrion suddenly felt a multitude of hands grabbing him, followed by the sound of ripping.

No. He tried to resist as his clothes were cut away from him, but it was no use as the guards pinned him in place and the cool breeze touched his exposed skin. First his tunic, then his breeches and even his boots were stripped from him. The men stepped back when it was done and Tyrion was left as naked as his name day as the eyes of the crowd burned into him.

Tears pricked his eyes as his twisted body was exposed, without any hope of escape from the humiliation. He tugged desperately at his hands behind his back but they wouldn’t budge, leaving him no way to shield himself from the eyes of the crowd. Cersei approached him, her eyes bright with satisfaction.

“You wanted everyone to see you, didn’t you little brother?” she said

“Why?” he asked, tugging hopelessly at his restraints “Please Cersei...I’m your brother”

“My brother is dead. You are nothing to me” she said “Because of you I suffered at the hands of those religious fanatics. It’s your turn now”

“No...please”

Cersei nodded again to her guards and hands grasped hold of him, holding him in place as a knife passed over his head – a clump of golden hair falling to the ground.

“Worry not. The walk’s not quite as long as mine – I know how short your legs are. When you return to the Red Keep I have a reward for you” she said, watching on as more and more of his hair fell around him

Nausea clawed up Tyrion’s throat as the realisation of what was going to happen hit him full force. He’d heard of Cersei’s humiliation – of course he had. As much as he hated his sister it hadn’t given him the satisfaction he’d expected. The faith militant was nothing at all to do with him, but that wouldn’t stop Cersei blaming him for her suffering. Now he was going to suffer the same fate.

“The traitor will make the walk of atonement back to the Red Keep” said Cersei, turning her attention to the crowd as a grinning guard grasped his face and began shearing off his beard “I’d encourage you all to enjoy this piece of revenge”

The crowd began mumbling as the Queen finished her address and Tyrion heard the first of what would be many laughs. He couldn’t escape as the knives scraped at his face and head, leaving him nothing to hide behind. Cersei’s eyes were bright with enjoyment as the last of his beard was removed and the light breeze brushed against his head. The guards were still shaving his head though Tyrion could tell his hair was nearly all gone.

“Leave some hair” instructed Cersei “I want it to be perfectly clear who the traitor is. A few traces of golden hair and the scar on his ugly face should be enough”

The guards released him as Cersei moved closer, a smirk twisting her face as she took in his appearance “Enjoy this little brother - it’s the last time you will ever leave the Red Keep”

Qyburn and the Mountain followed as she moved off, leaving him to his fate.

His clothes were gone. His hair had been sheared down to nothing.

Why couldn’t she just kill him?

Naked and utterly exposed to the increasingly bloodthirsty crowd, Tyrion felt what remained of his soul shatter. A hand shoved his back propelling him forwards and he turned to see a guard holding the length of chain attached to his hands. His legs trembled beneath him as more guards started pushing him forwards. With the Queen’s departure the crowd had grown increasingly loud - eager to witness the humiliation of their enemy.

Quicker would be best. Tyrion surged forwards, keeping his head low only for the chains to jerk him backwards.

“Not so fast dwarf. The Queen wants you to go at a nice leisurely pace” mocked a young guard appearing beside him “Gotta give all the people chance to see you. They’re lining the streets for this”

Tyrion wanted to scream at the injustice of it all as he was paraded out of the Dragon Pit and onto the tightly packed street.

“Kingslayer!” came a shout, followed by a pile of dung narrowly missing his head. All these years later and he was still accused of Joffrey’s murder. As if his nephew hadn’t been a sadistic bastard.

The crowd was packed with men, women and children - all hurling abuse at him. They were throwing rocks, dung and anything else they could find. 

His heart hammered painfully in his chest as he was forced onwards, Cersei’s words ringing in his ear. There was no-one coming to rescue him from this. Why hadn’t he learned by now? People didn’t care for him, only what they could use him for.

* * *

Cersei watched in satisfaction as Tyrion stumbled up the street towards the Red Keep. He deserved all of this and more. The imp had brought the dragon Queen here. He’d chosen to betray his family.

“Does this satisfy you, your Grace?” asked Qyburn

“It does” she said “but it’s still not enough”

This justice was long overdue.

True justice for Jamie’s death would be found when the silver haired bitch’s head was on a pike. For now this would have to do.

Blood was dripping from her brother when he finally made it to the steps of the Red Keep. Stones had been thrown at him, leaving a nasty gash on his head and several others across his chest and back. He was quite filthy; covered in mud, shit and whatever else the people had thrown at him.

She’d ordered her guards to stop him being seriously injured - she was nowhere near finished with him after all.

“Welcome back little brother” she called “pleasant walk?”

The loss of his hair and beard made it impossible to hide his face; just as she’d intended. Disgust rolled through her as she saw the tears sliding down the little monster’s face. Truly he was no lion. Never fit to bear the Lannister name.

“I promised you a reward, didn’t I?” she said, raking her eyes over his twisted body “Guards, take the traitor to Qyburn’s rooms”

The Lannister guards dispersed the crowd as Tyrion was led away. The Queen turned to Qyburn. The man was far more intelligent than Pycelle had ever been. His work was strange but useful and he had no use for morals. Cersei had hoped Jamie would be with her when the dragon Queen came, but that was no longer possible. Perhaps it was better this way - Jamie wouldn’t approve of what she’d done and what she would do.

“Your Grace, my little birds have reported Sansa Stark is heading south with a host” said Qyburn as they made their way back into the castle

“To join the dragon Queen”

“Perhaps”

Cersei turned to the black robed Maester “I doubt she’s coming to join us. Not that I’d let the traitorous little bitch hide here”

“Strange isn’t it? Her bastard brother has already brought his men and joined the Targaryen girl at Dragonstone. Yet now Sansa Stark travels south with her own host - including the Knights of the Vale and many of the Northern lords who did not travel themselves with Jon Snow”

Cersei‘s mouth turned downwards “Strange - but of little consequence. They will all die; every last one of them”

Qyburn bowed his head “Of course your Grace”

Their footsteps echoed down the stairs as they descended to Qyburn’s rooms. Given his position as hand and the delicate work he undertook Cersei had given him chambers more central in the Red Keep, and a more private working space not far from the black cells.

The two guards on the door stepped aside as they approached and Qyburn held the door open for Cersei to enter.

“Comfortable?” asked Cersei, her mouth curving upwards as she saw Tyrion strapped down to the table.

The imp didn’t reply, keeping his gaze locked on the ceiling. Up close he looked even worse; blood and grime covering him. It didn’t matter. Qyburn had promised to keep him alive long enough to suffer.

The Queen moved closer to the table, smirking down at Tyrion “Were the people not excited to meet the dragon Queen’s hand?”

“Why?” he asked, his voice breaking “You’re my sister”

“You know why”

“I never wanted to be like this…” he whispered “I’d have given anything to be normal”

“I’d give anything to have my family back” she said, an all too familiar grief rising in her “You won’t die today, or tomorrow. Your suffering will last until even Qyburn can no longer keep your pathetic excuse for a body alive”

Tyrion rolled his head away from her, weakly tugging against his restraints. The sight was making her nauseous. How could her mother possibly have birthed this creature? Joanna Lannister had been a true lioness.

She nodded to Qyburn and the man busied himself around the room, making the necessary preparations

“I promised you a reward little brother” she said, grasping his bare face until he was forced to look at her.

She held out the object in her other hand for him to see “You were so proud to be the dragon Queen’s hand”

“Get rid of it” he said, tears escaping the corner of his eyes “I was wrong…she’s a monster like you”

Cersei’s smile only widened “Oh, no. You can’t forget your mistakes so easily. You betrayed your family for this foreign whore. I’ll make sure you never forget”

Tyrion’s eyes widened in fear as Qyburn re-joined them at the table. Fear was good. That’s what she wanted to see - his fear and pain.

Jamie wouldn’t approve, but he’d always been weak when it came to Tyrion. There was no-one left to protect him now. The imp was at her mercy and she would show him none.

* * *

Sansa flexed her fingers, struggling to contain her anger at the dragon Queen.

They hadn’t long arrived at Dragonstone. The men who’d come with her were currently making camp not far from Maidenpool. The rest of the allied forces were closer to the coast and Dragonstone but Sansa wanted to keep her distance until she knew how things stood.

As soon as they arrived she’d left Brienne and a couple of Northern lords in charge of the troops while she travelled across to the castle with her most trusted advisors. Brienne hadn’t been happy but Sansa wasn’t certain her sworn shield wouldn’t kill Daenerys on sight for Jamie. Bran had insisted on coming and didn’t protest when the unsullied lifted his wheelchair into the boat. Lord Royce, lord Glover and Pod would join them.

Immediately they’d been whisked into the throne room for an audience with the Queen. Jon and Varys stood along from the throne. Her brother looked mournful and the spider wouldn’t meet her eyes. For the past few days she’d heard no mention of their mutual friend. In desperation she’d asked Bran if he was still alive, which caused some of the strange tension in her chest to ease, but her brother would give her no further details. Varys knew something, and provided she didn’t join Jamie Lannister as a pile of ashes she would get the answers. 

Missandei and Grey Worm were present as were several unsullied guards. Arya couldn’t be seen but that didn’t mean she wasn’t around. Bran, Pod, lord Royce and lord Glover stood behind her. The lords had told Sansa it was her lead they would follow.

“I’m pleased you could join us lady Sansa. You are most welcome here at Dragonstone” started Daenerys. Her voice was pleasant but her violet eyes shone with distrust.

“Thank you, your Grace” she replied “Might I ask where lord Tyrion is?”

“Gone. That’s all you need to know”

Sansa stepped forwards, anger rolling through her “Forgive me your Grace. I’ve done my best to keep up to date on the war, but as you know ravens are difficult while travelling. I heard you traded him for Missandei?”

The girl in question shrank in on herself, fidgeting guiltily with her hands as she stood beside the throne. Missandei had no reason to fear Sansa - her anger was for the so called Queen.

Daenerys lifted her chin “He offered himself to save my dear friend. His sacrifice will not be forgotten”

“I heard you promised to free him”

“You’ve heard many things, it would seem” she said, sending a pointed glance at the spider

Varys remained impassive, his face a perfect mask.

“Why haven’t you rescued your hand? In the North, loyalty is a valuable trait” said Sansa, her voice icy calm “Cersei made you an offer did she not? Tyrion for Jamie”

“I do not deal with tyrants”

“You betrayed him”

Daenerys eyes flashed dangerously and Sansa found herself stepping forwards even as Jon mouthed a silent warning.

“Did I betray him, lady Stark, or did he betray me?” she spat “You think I didn’t see how close you were at Winterfell?”

Sansa steps faltered “What are you talking about? He’s your hand - his loyalty is yours. I was acting as lady of Winterfell. We had to work together. There were provisions to plan, defences to discuss. Everyday things that were just as important as riding a dragon into battle”

“Are you trying to fool me or yourself?” said Daenerys, gripping the arms of her throne “All I heard from Tyrion was how I should be working with you. How you’re such a clever woman, how you’d make an invaluable ally”

“I-I..” she stammered. Had Tyrion really said that?

A humourless laugh fell from Daenerys “He even suggested I give the North independence. That I allow _you_ to rule it as Queen, subject to certain arrangements between the Kingdoms”

Northern independence; that was what she wanted. Tyrion had pleaded with her to give Daenerys a chance, but had he been trying to help her as well?

 _‘Of course he was’_ whispered her mind _‘he promised to never hurt you’_

“Tyrion understood working together” said Sansa, her voice coming out far weaker than she’d intended “He believed in you”

“Not as much as he believed in you” spat Daenerys, clasping her hands in front of her “You wish to know why I didn’t rescue Tyrion? Fine. His loyalties were too divided. He was a loose end”

_‘Your divided loyalties would be a problem’_

Hearing the dragon Queen echo the words she’d spoken to Tyrion in the crypt was like a slap in the face. She’d thought Tyrion’s loyalty was to his Queen, but Daenerys believed it was to her.

“Killing Jamie sentenced him to death. Cersei will hurt him” said Sansa, her heart twisting unexpectedly “Did you never care for him at all?”

“He was my friend - but I can’t trust him anymore” she admitted, eyeing Sansa with suspicion “I hope this satisfies you lady Sansa. Jon has promised you’re here to help. I understand you may dislike what happened with Tyrion, but it couldn’t be helped. I trust I can rely on you in the war to come?”

Sansa bowed her head, her blue eyes as cold as ice “Yes, your Grace. There’s a tyrant to deal with after all”


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Tyrion found he was grateful for the darkness of the cell as he shivered against the cold. The darkness meant he didn’t have to look at it - that _thing_ his sister had ordered be done to him. How she’d learnt of the practice he didn’t know, but Tyrion had seen it across the narrow sea. It was occasionally done to slaves but more often fools. He supposed he was both now anyway. A fool for believing Daenerys ever cared for him and a slave to the suffering that now ruled his life.

He wanted nothing more than to curl up, sleep and never wake. That wasn’t to be. Cersei was taking care to not let him die. After his humiliating walk through Kings Landing he’d been strapped down to that damned table while Cersei watched in glee as Qyburn carried out her orders.

_Cersei waved the Hand of the Queen pin in front of his face as the prickling ache across his chest grew worse. He’d tried desperately to free himself but Qyburn had merely tightened the straps holding him in place and continued._

_“I had several ideas for this, but this seemed the least likely to kill you. Branding was my first thought but it would be over too quickly and cutting with a knife was too likely to get infected” she mused “its fortunate Qyburn is an intelligent man. He learned this particular practice quickly”_

_“I practiced on some corpses” said the Maester, a smile on his mouth at the Queen’s appreciation_

_“This was an excellent suggestion by my hand” said Cersei, emphasising the title “it’s long and painful and now you’ll never forget your greatest accomplishment little brother”_

He squeezed his eyes shut at the memory of Cersei’s mocking smile watching over him. It was a game to her. To see how much she could hurt him before killing him. She’d promised to take everything from him and she was off to a good start. His dignity had been stripped away in the Dragon Pit, along with his clothes and hair. She’d left him nothing to hide behind as he was forced to walk back to the Red Keep. Hours later the mocking laughs of the people still rang in his ears - but that was nothing to all the hands that had touched him. Several times on his walk he’d been pulled into the crowd. Tyrion shuddered violently at the memory of their grinning faces as they molested him like some sort of novelty.

_‘Look at the dwarf!’_

_‘Ugly little freak’_

With his hands trapped behind him he’d been utterly helpless as he was groped, hit and spat on. Some wanted to beat him, other wanted to see what a dwarf’s cock was like - they’d all wanted to hurt him one way or another. Tyrion was alone in the cell but he could still feel their hands on him, see the spite in their eyes as they degraded him.

It had been several hours since Cersei had him brought back to his cell, this time chaining his hands high above him as he slumped on the ground. He’d been given nothing to cover himself with and he doubted he would - Cersei would spare him no mercy. Not now Jamie was gone.

Tyrion would have cried again at the thought of his brother if he hadn’t already cried himself dry. Why would Daenerys kill Jamie? He was a valuable hostage - she knew how much his brother meant to him.

_‘She left you to die here. Do you think she cared about your brother?’_

Daenerys betrayal cut through him like a knife, scraping over every raw piece of his soul. What had he done wrong? He knew there’d been mistakes but Daenerys had been his friend; he believed in her.

_‘You’re afraid of her’_

Sansa’s accusation flitted through his mind as he let his head drop forwards. She was right. As much as he’d cared for Daenerys, part of him had feared her. There had always been a piece of her that was volatile; that used force when there was room for mercy. Why hadn’t he listened to Sansa? She saw Daenerys for what she was straight away.

Sansa must think him an idiot for trusting the dragon Queen. He hoped she never heard that he’d readily agreed to this exchange – or what followed. His heart twisted unexpectedly at the thought. They’d worked closely together over the months at Winterfell, falling into an easy friendship. Sansa was clever, beautiful and he admired her greatly – the idea of her knowing what had become of him was shameful. 

* * *

Sansa curled her hands into fists beneath the table; hoping no-one had seen the shaking.

“You’re certain?” she asked

Arya nodded, her face grim “Varys has heard the same”

“Why did no-one tell me?” she snapped “I assume Daenerys knows?”

“Everyone knows. Jon hoped telling Daenerys would prompt her to act, but she didn’t seem to care. It was easier to tell you in person”

Sansa breathed in, fighting to control the anger rolling through her. Hearing that Tyrion had been forced to do a walk of atonement through the streets of Kings Landing had hurt Sansa far more than she’d ever expected. Apparently Varys and Arya had known for a couple of days and not bothered to put it in a letter. Bran had surely known as well. She ground her teeth together; how was she supposed to plan when she didn’t know what was happening?

“Anything else?” she asked sharply

Arya bit her lip “We don’t know the details but Cersei is hurting him”

Sansa nodded, trying and failing to ignore the tightness in her chest. A forbidden image of warm green eyes flashed through her mind.

_“What do you think?” asked Tyrion, pushing the maps towards her_

_“You’re hand of the Queen – you hardly need my advice”_

_“You’re a fiercely clever woman” he said, smiling at her “I’d value your opinion”_

Many times over the weeks at Winterfell Tyrion had sought her advice. Space was tight in the castle with so many people and they often found each other in the library, working on their own projects. Tyrion was a clever man; he had no need of advice but Sansa couldn’t deny her pleasure at being asked for it. There were few people who respected her intelligence or opinion.

Daenerys words that Tyrion had suggested a form of Northern independence whispered through her mind, threatening to unlock all that she had carefully sealed away. The dragon Queen was unstable – she could have been hearing things that weren’t true...but she’d seemed convinced Tyrion’s loyalty was divided. That it was to Sansa rather than her.

“Sansa, why are you really doing this?” asked Arya, drawing Sansa from her increasingly uncomfortable thoughts

“You know why” she said, glancing around the walls of her room in Dragonstone as if they had ears

“I do know why, but you’re the one denying it”

Sansa swallowed, avoiding her sisters grey eyed stare “She can’t win this war”

“Agreed”

“What about Jon?”

“Like you. He knows a truth he won’t accept”

Frustration wound through Sansa. They were wasting time, but patience was necessary. Daenerys was clearly unstable, but she commanded a large army and a dragon – they had to move carefully.

* * *

“You have the better claim” insisted Varys

Jon shook his head, denying it once again “I don’t want it – I never have”

“If it’s a choice between you and our Queen, who would be better for Westeros?”

Jon honestly didn’t know anymore. The wind whipped around his face as he overlooked the sea that stretched from Dragonstone. Daenerys had wanted to attack Kings Landing as soon as Sansa arrived but his sister had persuaded her to delay for a week. Long enough for her men to rest and finalise the plan. The mother of Dragons was growing more impatient the longer they stayed here – and increasingly paranoid.

“The bulk of this army is sworn to Daenerys” said Jon, turning to face the spider “they won’t fight for anyone else”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Betraying Tyrion has cast doubts through the ranks” confided Varys, folding his hands into his sleeves “Our Queen has tried to frame it as if it were a noble sacrifice, when everyone knows she promised to free him. Grey Worm and a few lower ranking unsullied captains were involved in planning the rescue and spread the plan throughout their ranks. The unsullied are soldiers; a brotherhood in their own way – the Queen’s change of heart doesn’t sit well with them”

Jon sighed, his hand curling around Longclaw “What would you have me do? Daenerys is Queen – I...she wasn’t always like this”

The spider’s eyes flashed with disappointment for the briefest moment “I’d have you protect the realm. You saw how easily she burned Jamie Lannister. If she takes Kings Landing what happens next?”

“She gets what she’s always wanted and rules justly”

“It’s possible” said Varys “It’s also possible she goes as mad as her father. I served the mad King; the signs are there”

Ice crept down Jon’s spine at his words. It was far too similar to Jamie Lannister’s warning.

No matter how Jon had tried to reason with her she’d been adamant on delivering justice and killing the Lannister knight. He could still smell the burning flesh days later.

_"I Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen sentence you to die’ she’d said, her silver hair glinting in the fading light ‘Any last words?"_

_" don’t regret killing your father. It saved thousands of lives’ he said, a smirk on his face ‘it was worth the title Kingslayer"_

_"You have no honour, and any false notions you have of being a hero won’t save you"_

Ser Jamie hadn’t seemed the least bit surprised at his sentence as Drogon reared up behind Daenerys. The Lannister knight hadn’t flinched from his impending death, but his eyes found Jon’s in the last few moments – as if charging him to carry the burden.

The image of the flames engulfing Ser Jamie often drifted into his mind, but it was the way Daenerys had smiled that haunted him. Her lilac eyes had danced with madness in the light of the dragon fire.

Fire and blood.

That was how Daenerys wanted to win the throne.

“There’s still a chance to reason with Daenerys” said Jon “you’ve saw how her people respect her. She wants to make things better and it cost her a lot to help us fight the dead while Cersei sat safely in Kings Landing. She deserves the throne more than her; deserves our help”

Varys shook his head, turning to leave “Will your sisters be happy with that? Sansa is on the warpath and we both know why”

“When we attack Kings Landing I’ll make sure we rescue Tyrion”

“So Daenerys can burn him alive in front of Sansa? You know she would”

“We don’t know that” said Jon, rubbing tiredly at his face

“I’m glad I’m a eunuch sometimes” mused Varys “I’ve done all I can to convince you Jon Snow”

“You serve Daenerys” he reminded him

“I serve the realm”

* * *

The strain on his shoulders was terrible as Tyrion twisted his hands to angle the prized keys into the chains above his head. If he could free one hand, the other would be much easier. Escape had seemed all but impossible until he noticed the keys hanging from Qyburn’s robes as the man ‘studied’ him. Time had lost all meaning to Tyrion. He suspected it had been a few days since he was forced to walk through the city and life after that had been a constant cycle of pain and humiliation.

His skin crawled at the thought of Qyburn and the hours he’d spent strapped to that damned table while he examined him. There wasn’t a piece of him the man hadn’t studied, prodded and probed.

_“Unlike your Queen, I reward loyalty little brother” Cersei had explained as Qyburn forced his jaws open, inserting some sort of clamp to hold them apart “I intend for you to suffer as much as possible over a long period of time. Qyburn has promised to help me achieve this and in return I’ve agreed to let him study you”_

_“I’ve tried to gain as much knowledge on the human body as possible, but I’ve not been able to study a dwarf. Comparing the differences between your kind and regular humans will be fascinating”_

Tyrion’s tongue went to the hole in the back of the gums where a tooth had been wrenched out for closer analysis. His sister made certain she was there for any pain or humiliation but had grown bored with Qyburn’s academic enquiries. The man had spent hours measuring and taking samples from him. Vials of his blood had been taken, along with the tooth, some tissue from his leg and much to his shame his seed. His cheeks burned at that memory - Cersei had made sure she was present for that particular humiliation. Taunting and mocking him as Qyburn manipulated his cock until he spilled his seed into a vial. 

Desperation surged through him, giving him a boost of energy as he continued fiddling with the keys in his fingers. He had to escape. He’d rather throw himself from the Red Keep than spend another moment here. No-one was coming to rescue him; no-one wanted him.

He bit his tongue to stifle the hurt that threatened to drown him. Daenerys betrayal hurt more than anything Cersei could do to him. She’d held the last piece of hope he had to give and tossed it aside as if it was worthless – as if he was worthless. He pushed back against the dark thoughts. There would be time to deal with them when he was free from Cersei; that had to be his priority.

Tyrion had noticed the keys a couple of times over the past few days; dangling from Qyburn’s black robes. The man had three sets of keys on his belt and Tyrion deduced they were for his chambers, lab and his prison. Studying the keys had given him something to focus on while he was degraded. Today he’d felt certain enough which of the three sets of keys was for his chains and cell to lift them from his belt as Qyburn leaned over him. Concealing them was the bigger problem given his now constant nakedness, but he’d gotten lucky. When Qyburn had the guards unstrap him from the table he’d handed a thin blanket to him, saying the coldness of the cell was too much and the Queen didn’t wish him to die yet. Clutching the keys in his fist beneath the blanket as he was dragged back to his cell and chained up again, Tyrion was relieved his prize wasn’t discovered. 

He forced his trembling fingers to switch the key to the other one again. Surely this was the right set? It had to be; one key for the chains pinning him to the wall and one for the cell door. His heartbeat picked up pace as the key refused to go in. He had to escape.

Hopelessness had just begun to spread through his chest when a click sounded above him and his right arm dropped free. Pins and needles shot down the limb as he released it from its position. Shaking his arm out Tyrion quickly turned his attention to freeing his other hand.

It had been well over a week since Daenerys betrayed him, and Tyrion found his legs would barely hold his weight as he moved shakily from the ground. The darkness of the cell was absolute but the small space allowed him to follow the wall to the door. He picked up the thin blanket, wrapping it around him to both cover and disguise himself. Clothes would be better but he daren’t risk trying to find any. There had been no guards outside since Jamie died, and why would there be – it was obvious now no-one was coming from him.

Tyrion drew in a shaking breath, gathering up the fragments of his shattered soul as he squeezed his hand between the bars of the cell and fought to get the key in the lock. Anything was better than dying here.

He struggled in the dark until he was at last rewarded with the lock clicking open. The door creaked open as he staggered out into the equally dark corridor. Tyrion forced himself forwards, creeping down the corridor until he came to another section with torches burning down one side.

The faint light was enough for Tyrion to work out where he was and how to get out of the Red Keep. He kept to the shadows as he crept through the corridors, forcing himself to focus on escape and not that _thing_ on his chest. If he looked at it now whatever strands were holding him together would completely snap.

In planning his rescue with Daenerys he’d looked at every known and hidden entry of the Red Keep and Varys had offered further insight on the many secret passageways. He hadn’t been out of his cell long and already his weakened body was protesting the exertion. Finally, he found the door he needed. It would open to a set of stairs but if you knew what to look for a concealed door in the staircase would lead down and out of the Red Keep.

As he moved off towards the concealed staircase, a dark thought drifted through his mind.

His sister was upstairs somewhere. He could go and kill her.

Anger flooded him at the thought of Cersei, urging him to complete the deed. Somewhere inside him survival instincts took over and he turned back to the concealed door. Leaving his cell had taken most of his strength; attacking Cersei would end in death if he was lucky and imprisonment if he wasn’t.

Easing open the stiff door which was more like a hatch in the brickwork, Tyrion stumbled towards freedom. It was so close he could almost taste it. When he was free he would find a way to kill Cersei – and Daenerys. The mere thought of her caused a hollow ache deep within him. She did this to him as much as Cersei.

It was at the end of the corridor when Tyrion found the panel that would bring him to freedom. He eased it open as the fresh air swept in to greet him. It was daylight outside; the sun bright and warm as he took the first step.

“Going somewhere little brother?”

No.

Icy terror wrapped around him as he turned to his left, only to find Cersei, Qyburn and a group of guards waiting for him.

His mind screamed at him to move as he turned to run, but it was pointless. Two guards hurried forwards to seize him, stripping the blanket from him and dragging him to his sister. Cersei’s eyes were bright with amusement as he was forced to his knees before her.

“Where were you going I wonder? Back to the dragon whore?”

“No, no...” he mumbled, sucking in rapid breaths. He’d been caught. They were going to take him back there; he couldn’t go back there.

“You always thought you were so clever” said Cersei, scorn lacing her words “Did you really think I’d leave you a chance to escape? Or that Qyburn would be so easily fooled?”

Tyrion’s heart dropped to his feet as the realisation set in. His whole escape had been manipulated by Cersei.

“No wonder your Queen sought to rid herself of you. You did exactly as we knew you would” she said, her eyes moving to that _thing_ on his chest as her lip curled up in satisfaction “I’d expect more from a Queen’s hand”

“You’re a monster” he said, trembling in the guards iron grip

“The only monster here is you little brother. Your former wife has joined up with the Targaryen girl now. Perhaps when I crush them I’ll let her join you. The murderous little bitch deserves to suffer”

 _‘No. Not Sansa. That couldn’t be right’_ he thought; panic bubbling through him _‘Why was she with Daenerys? She didn’t trust her. Daenerys betrayed him, she’d betray anyone’_

“I wasn’t sure you’d even bother trying to escape” mused Cersei “If it’s not clear now that no-one wants you it never will be. Nevertheless, you will be appropriately punished for your disobedience. Qyburn played his part well so I’ve given him permission to carry out the punishment”

“You won’t be disappointed, your Grace” said the man, bowing his head

All the fight drained out of Tyrion as the guards dragged him back to his prison and whatever hell awaited him. This was Cersei’s game and she’d won. 

* * *

Varys considered the woman beside him as they moved through Dragonstone. Sansa Stark was far more intelligent than he’d believed her to be when she was in Kings landing. While she’d been clever enough to survive Joffrey, the young woman was now a capable player in the game of thrones – some could say dangerous. Her demeanour was an icy calm that terrified and demanded respect in equal measure. Despite her armour of ice, he couldn’t say the lady of Winterfell was cold. There was a warmth and passion she extended to her family, and the Northerners she both protected and served. Sansa Stark’s heart was closely guarded and open to only a select few she considered family - and their mutual friend.

“How could anyone like it here?” she mused “This place makes the North seem warm”

“Dragonstone is an acquired taste” he agreed “though our Queen doesn’t wish to linger here any longer”

The young woman’s eyes darkened at the comment “Nor do I”

They continued down the corridor and Varys considered the lady of Winterfell. It had been a few days since she arrived and he’d heard whispers of how well respected she was among the Northerners and the Knights of the Vale. Many preferred her to Jon Snow.

They stopped outside a door with a dragon carved into the wood.

“This is it?” she asked softly

Varys nodded “Yes, my lady”

Sansa needed no further invitation as she pushed open the door. Varys followed her in, closing the door behind them and leaving them alone in the chambers that had belonged to the dragon Queen’s hand. He stood silently as Sansa appraised the room. Piles of books and work littered the area, spreading from the desk to on top of the cupboards and even the bottom of the bed.

“Did he do nothing but work?” she asked softly, a hint of sadness creeping into her blue eyes

“He drank”

“All this work for the Queen who betrayed him”

“My lady, I want you to know that I was against the plan”

The woman said nothing, stepping over to Tyrion’s cluttered desk and glancing at the papers spread across them.

“Who do you work for Varys?” she asked, her eyes never leaving the papers

“The realm”

“You serve Daenerys”

“I believed she was the best chance we had for a peaceful monarch that cared for the people”

Sansa turned to look at him, and Varys was acutely reminded of a wolf “A peaceful monarch who trades her friends to the enemy and burns people alive who won’t call her Queen”

Varys folded his hands into his sleeves, stepping over to join her at the desk “You must understand she wasn’t always like this”

“You sound like Jon”

“While her methods were somewhat brutal Daenerys acted with good intentions in Essos. Her campaign was to stop children being born into slavery. She was a liberator”

“I’m not saying she hasn’t done good things. She aided us during the long night, and there must have been something special about her for Tyrion to believe in her”

The young woman’s mouth turned downwards at her own words; as if it wasn’t something she liked to think about.

“There was. I’m sure you’ll agree most anyone is a better prospect than Cersei Lannister” said Varys “The Targaryen’s have always had hints of madness in them. Her father wasn’t always mad, but at the end it consumed him. I hoped it wasn’t to be, but the signs are there”

Sansa nodded, her hand brushing over the papers Tyrion had left ready for when he returned “You no longer believe she is the right person to sit the throne”

“I don’t. She grows more paranoid by the day”

“Jon has the best claim. I’m certain Tyrion told you”

“He did and Jon does – but I’ve spoken to him and he has no interest in pursuing it” said Varys, lifting his eyes to meet Sansa’s cold stare “Which is why I’ve come to you”

“I don’t want the Iron Throne”

“Yet you’ve called your banners and come all this way”

“I came for my family” said Sansa, stepping away from him and wandering towards the bed

That wasn’t entirely true and they both knew it. The lady of Winterfell was the best hope they had of avoiding a disaster. Daenerys was eager to take the city and Varys knew it would be a slaughter – the common man would be the victim. Cersei was cruel and she knew it – committing unspeakable acts without losing a moment’s sleep. Daenerys was perhaps more dangerous. She saw herself as a liberator and protector; blind to her own madness. Neither could be allowed to rule.

“Lady Stark, I wish to offer my services”

Sansa turned to him then, her eyes narrowing as her hand rested on Tyrion’s pillow “Why would I be in need of your services? I’m here to kill a tyrant and protect my family”

A smile tugged at the spider’s mouth “I understand”

“Do you?”

“We share the same goals; a stable ruler on the throne, and to help our mutual friend. The songs from my little birds are haunting my sleep”

Sansa’s face tightened, worry flashing through her eyes “How long?”

“Cersei is keeping him alive” he confided “though I fear if we delay much longer there will be nothing left to rescue”

The lady of Winterfell’s face fell at the news, but before his eyes she straightened her back – a fire dancing in her blue eyes “Then we’ve much to do”

* * *

Daenerys didn’t like whispers.

There were too many at Dragonstone.

The spider had been whispering a lot lately; whispering to Sansa Stark. The unsullied had taken to whispering too – though it soon stopped when she walked past them. Even now, in the corner of the throne room she could see Grey Worm and Missandei whispering. They hadn’t noticed her, but they clearly didn’t want to be found.

Her brow furrowed at them. They’d both been acting strangely since the exchange. At first she’d thought Missandei was just traumatised, but the girl seemed guilt-ridden over Tyrion’s fate. Daenerys had told her time and time again it wasn’t her fault – that he was destined to die and this way he had served his Queen. Even stranger was Grey Worm. The captain of the unsullied had asked her this morning if they could rescue Tyrion.

_“I could go with few unsullied” he said “sneak in castle and rescue Tyrion”_

_“No” said Daenerys “That’s not necessary – we don’t need him”_

_“He saved Missandei” said Grey Worm, shifting uneasily under her gaze “Lannister always say about pay debts. I could pay him this one”_

_Daenerys wrinkled her nose “I saved Missandei. I say we don’t need Tyrion anymore”_

Grey Worm had nodded his acceptance, but the conversation continued to bother Daenerys. He’d always been her most loyal supporter. Surely he agreed saving Missandei was more important than Tyrion? She watched her two closest friends conversing in a corner, oblivious to her presence.

 _‘They’re plotting against you’_ whispered that voice in her mind. It sounded like Viserys sometimes _‘Wake the dragon – show them who you really are’_

No. They were her friends.

They were her friends...but she couldn’t trust them anymore.

* * *

It was with a morbid fascination Cersei watched Qyburn cut into Tyrion’s hand. The first of many cries escaping the pathetic creature she’d been forced to call brother. His escape attempt had played out exactly as predicted, and the image of his face when he realised it was a trap had been everything she hoped for.

The Queen drew her eyes from Qyburn’s work to Tyrion’s agonised face as the knife dug into him. Qyburn had insisted they give him some form of sedative for this; lest his heart give out from the pain. Whatever concoction he’d been given it made her brother’s body as limp as rag doll while doing nothing to ease the agony. He was strapped down as usual but there was no chance he could move. Even now his mouth was hanging open as whimpers of pain escaped him.

Pain was good – it was what he deserved.

Qyburn’s little birds had warned the dragon Queen would attack in a few days time. Cersei had every intention of winning this war, but the next few days she would focus on the little monster. She’d planned to break him over as many weeks as possible, but with the dragon Queen and the wolves at her door she’d need to accelerate her plans. When the ashes settled and she had her throne she would continue her work on Tyrion. The next few days would break every last piece of him and then she could turn whatever remained into something else.

A smile tugged at her mouth as a whimper fell from his mouth. He deserved this – every last piece of it. Their family was dead because of him; Jamie was dead because of him.

“I’ve been thinking about your future little brother” she said, running a finger over the few tufts of hair he had left “I’ve decided not to kill you – not entirely anyway”

He didn’t answer; not that he could. Whatever Qyburn had given him had turned his speech sluggish -only his agony was enough to break through and even that was more muted than it would have been.

“I’m going to break you down to nothing, and turn you into something else” she said, her fingers moving down his face to prod his chest. Her lip curled upwards at the sight; it was a clever idea of Qyburn’s – and it sat exactly where that stupid pin had on his tunic “When I’m victorious I think a fool will brighten the mood in court. Motley will suit you little brother. We’ll make it permanent, and if nothing else it might improve your face”

Tears were streaming down his face as moans of pain broke from his throat. Cersei looked to Qyburn, finding the man had clamps holding the hand open as he prodded inside it, scribbling notes in a black book.

“Anything interesting?” she asked, transfixed by the gory mess

“Very, your Grace” he said, moving his stool aside so she could get a closer look

“Are you ready to proceed?”

“I believe so” he said, lifting a small knife to the hand “You wish to watch?”

Cersei raised her eyes to her brother’s agonised face, a smirk tugging at her mouth “I wouldn’t miss it”

* * *

If Dragonstone had one redeeming quality it would be the beach. The sand was soft under Sansa’s bare feet as she idled her way along the stretch of beach; her eyes wandering to the sea that stretched endlessly onwards.

The papers in her hand were dangerous.

Varys had brought them to her earlier today and Sansa instantly recognised Tyrion’s writing. When she went with Varys to see Tyrion’s chambers, Sansa wasn’t sure what she expected to find. His work and books were spread everywhere; how he found anything in the mess she had no idea.

As much as she didn’t trust Varys he’d seemed genuine enough in his desire to save Kings Landing from a tyrant. It had taken another day for him to find what she requested but now the evidence was in her hands.

_“Why is the North’s independence so important to you? I understand wanting it while Cersei sits the throne, but surely there would be no need under a different ruler” said Tyrion, the light of the hearth dancing across his face_

_Sansa sighed “The North doesn’t fit with the rest of Westeros. My father exemplified everything about the North, and look what happened when he went south. Look what happened to all my family”_

_“No two parts of Westeros are the same”_

_“They’re not, but the North is the most misunderstood. I didn’t understand until I left” said Sansa “The North needs independence because it needs someone who understands it. Someone who priorities the needs of Northerners above all else”_

_“You would rule it?”_

_“Whoever rules it will be chosen by the Northerners. Don’t you see Tyrion? The Northerners won’t kneel to anyone they don’t choose” she said, her heart twisting “I know you want me to trust Daenerys but I can’t. Not that it matters. Jon was our King and he already bent the knee”_

_A soft smile pulled at Tyrion’s mouth “I understand. For what it’s worth you would rule the North well”_

Heat pricked at the back of her eyes remembering that night and the many others they’d spent working together with the hearth burning brightly between them. She wasn’t sure why she’d bothered telling Tyrion that - he was pledged to serve Daenerys after all. Whether it was the genuine curiosity in his questions or the safeness she felt in his presence; Sansa was always more honest with Tyrion than anyone else.

Daenerys words had echoed through her mind for days - to the point where she’d asked Varys for clarification. Now the evidence was in her hands; a plan for Northern independence and proposed agreements between the Iron Throne and an independent North. Sansa had read the document in disbelief, believing this proposal would be a token gesture - how wrong she was. The agreements were fair to both Kingdoms, favouring neither and respecting the independence of both while acknowledging the need for partnership.

According to Varys, Tyrion had brought this proposal to Daenerys, suggesting they use it in case the North still wants independence after she takes the throne. He’d argued Sansa would make a valuable ally - that this proposal could ensure a peaceful reign across Westeros and break the wheel once and for all.

Varys said the dragon Queen was furious. That she’d refused the idea of giving up part of her kingdom - especially to Sansa.

As the breeze whipped her hair around her face, Sansa realised she held everything she wanted in her hands. An independent North; safety for her family.

It still wasn’t enough.

The path to what she wanted was blocked by two Queens, and the game was rapidly shifting around her. Allies and enemies changed faces as quickly as Arya.

Gazing across the waters that framed the beach, Sansa knew Kings Landing was close - and so was Tyrion.

“I’m coming for you” she said, her voice drifting away on the wind “No matter what, I’ll find you - I promise”


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

“I’ve heard whispers” said Varys, pulling down his hood as soon as he made it into her chambers

Sansa checked the corridor before closing the door. They weren’t doing anything wrong; if anyone asked the spider was merely going through the plans for the upcoming war.

She gestured the eunuch to a seat, settling in across from him.

“Are these whispers going to help?” she asked

“Perhaps” he said, leaning forwards “it would appear some of the Lannister forces are uneasy with Cersei’s treatment of our mutual friend”

“Why?”

“With Ser Jamie’s death many see Tyrion as the true lord of Casterly Rock”

Sansa furrowed her brow “He was found guilty of regicide and he killed his father - surely he has no claim to the Lannister titles?”

“He was never formally disinherited as no royal decree was issued even after he fled to Essos. Aside from that, Cersei is guilty of far worse crimes. It’s common knowledge she orchestrated the explosion at the Sept of Baelor that killed Queen Margaery, though people avoid mentioning it”

“Are there any other Lannister’s left with a claim?”

Varys shook his head “All dead. Cersei killed their uncle Kevan and his son Lancel in the Sept explosion”

Sansa turned the information in her mind. It did make sense. As a child she may have seen all Lannister soldiers as evil but it was entirely possible some were uncomfortable serving a Queen as cruel as Cersei.

“If Tyrion is their lord shouldn’t they be helping him?” she asked

“Fear of sharing his fate keeps them away” he confided “but if it was clear Cersei would be defeated, I believe it’s likely the Lannister forces would give her up in favour of Tywin Lannister’s last son”

“And Tyrion should suddenly accept that these men who hurt him are now loyal to him?”

Varys shrugged “That would be an issue for lord Tyrion, but given our priority is rescuing him it is helpful to know some guards may be sympathetic to our cause”

Sansa nodded, looking for any way to use the information. Varys gave her updates on Tyrion but she knew he kept the worst from her. Knowing that he was being hurt was enough to haunt her dreams. Just yesterday Varys had shut down one of their ideas of a covert rescue.

_‘From what my little birds say Tyrion will be unable to leave the Red Keep under his own power’_

He’d refused to elaborate but the message was clear enough. Tyrion was hurt to the point where he would need to be carried and likely need immediate care. A stealthy escape up and down ladders and hidden passages was no longer possible. Sansa pushed the thought from her mind focusing on the task before her. Time was running short before Daenerys attacked Kings Landing and they needed to reach Tyrion before then - a task which was becoming increasingly impossible.

* * *

A whimper fell from Tyrion as he tried to curl up in the corner of his cell.

Everything hurt.

Of all the ways he’d thought Cersei would punish him for his escape attempt he’d never imagined what would actually happen. A shudder went through him at the memory of Qyburn’s inhuman eyes alight with fascination as he mutilated him. When Qyburn had forced some sort of potion down his throat he’d feared it was more poison but the truth was so much worse. His whole body had shut down, refusing to so much as twitch. All he’d been able to do was groan in agony as his hand was cut open.

Tyrion screwed his eyes shut as nausea rolled through him. He’d felt everything, and been unable to escape any of it. Cersei had been watching of course, mocking his weakness and promising more pain to come.

It hadn’t taken long.

When Qyburn had satisfied his curiosity and Cersei was satisfied with the punishment he’d been thrown back in his cell with his ruined arm. The paralysis of his body had gradually worn off, though his arm alternated between burning agony and nothing. Desperate to escape his hell even for a little while, he’d tried to sleep in the corner of the dank cell. No sooner had he closed his eyes did the cell door bang open and two Lannister guards came into the cramped space.

_‘The Queen sent us’_

That was all they said before the violence began. Boots and fists had thudded into him in a flurry of violence, his body creaking and shaking under the abuse. There was no chance to escape. He was far too weak, his arm was crippled – all he could do was hope death would finally come.

When it was done the guards left as suddenly as they came, leaving him bleeding and shaking in the darkness.

It had been a few hours since then and he hadn’t stopped shaking. He daren’t close his eyes in case they came back; not that he could protect himself if they did.

Tyrion dropped his head back against the wall as tears raced down his face. What had he done to deserve this? His whole life had been unending cruelty and he wouldn’t have any dignity in death either.

 _‘Be brave for me; I’ll come back for you - I promise’_ whispered Daenerys voice

“Liar” he said, his voice scratchy and weak “I was nothing to you – to anyone”

What would Daenerys think if she saw him now? Would she pity him like she did the beggars in Mereen, or would she be satisfied? She had Jon now; she didn’t need him anymore. She had Missandei, Grey Worm – an army of people who were her friends, who would risk anything for her. They were probably all laughing about his fate. Had they all known she wouldn’t come for him? He thought he’d found a place with Daenerys; that he had friends – that he was part of something. Everything had been a lie.

Tyrion had only one true friend in the world; and Daenerys had killed him.

He could almost imagine the glee in her lilac eyes as she killed Jamie. The image of Daenerys sent a crushing pain through his chest that threatened to rip him apart. He’d trusted her – believed in her.

_‘You’re my friend Tyrion’_

Sansa’s words sang through his mind, pulling him back to Winterfell that seemed a lifetime ago.

_“You’ve no need to worry about Jamie. He’s here to keep his promise to fight against the dead - he’s not a threat” he said, laying his hand on Sansa’s arm as they worked_

_“He attacked my father in Kings Landing, and killed our men” she said, a frown on her face “he’s a known oath-breaker and Cersei’s twin brother. I can’t trust Lannister’s”_

_“Oh…of course” he said, something twisting in his chest._

_Tyrion went to withdraw his hand, only for Sansa’s hand to close around his – her blue eyes pleading._

_“I didn’t mean you” she said “I’m sorry – it’s easy to forget you’re a Lannister. You’re not like the rest of your family”_

_He smiled at her “Good. I don’t want to be like them”_

_“You’re my friend Tyrion. I trust you”_

Sansa’s friendship meant the world to him. She had every reason to hate him; from their forced marriage to her family’s deaths – but instead she trusted him. What Sansa had endured since fleeing Kings Landing was nothing short of horrifying, and he’d only heard pieces of it. The lady of Winterfell trusted so few people; that he was one of them had filled him with pride.

The sound of the door scraping open washed away the warmth of the memory and the feel of Sansa’s hand around his. Fear gripped his heart as the guards hauled him to his feet and led him out of the cell.

Cersei said Sansa had joined Daenerys. His heart slammed against his chest as guilt swelled in him. He’d tried to convince Sansa to trust Daenerys. Sansa trusted him.

No.

Tyrion struggled feebly against the guards, a sob breaking in his throat. Not Sansa. Daenerys hadn’t trusted Sansa from the start. Daenerys betrayed him; she would hurt Sansa.

It was all his fault.

Sansa had offered him a friendship he didn’t deserve and he’d repaid her trust by bringing a vicious Queen to her home.

As the door to Qyburn’s rooms came into view, Tyrion sagged in the guards hold. Whatever hell awaited him was nothing to the one in his mind.

* * *

“Do you think you can do it?” asked Sansa

Bran’s face was pulled into a grimace as he observed Drogon in the distance. Her brother’s chambers at Dragonstone looked out across cliffs where the dragon was lying in the afternoon sun.

“I don’t know” he admitted “Wolves and ravens are the easiest for me. Controlling Drogon might not be possible”

Sansa bit her lip, observing the huge dragon. Daenerys had become increasingly paranoid, even over the few days they’d been here she’d gotten worse. She couldn’t be allowed to attack Kings Landing with her dragon - it would be a slaughter.

“If Daenerys attacks Kings Landing and wins the throne, what will happen?”

“You know I can’t see the future Sansa”

“You get glimpses” she pressed

Bran sighed “I have visions of how things might happen; but it’s not guaranteed. Choices change the future every second”

“She can’t sit the Iron Throne - she’s unstable” said Sansa, stepping back from the window

Frustration wound through the lady of Winterfell. It was painfully obvious Daenerys wasn’t fit to rule, but she had too much support. Sansa’s troops couldn’t take Kings Landing alone and opposing Daenerys would likely see her joining Jamie Lannister as ashes. It was an infuriating deadlock without a clear way through the mess. Daenerys would attack in three days time and if nothing changed she would have to join her or die.

Every moment they wasted here was another moment lost.

Sansa wanted nothing more than to rescue Tyrion and take her family home. Instead she was caught between two mad Queens, both desperate for an ugly metal chair. A knock on the door drew Sansa from her musings.

“Come in” called Bran, continuing to watch Drogon out the window

The door creaked open and Missandei slipped inside - her eyes darting worriedly around the room “I hope I’m not disturbing you?”

“Certainly not” said Bran, turning to appraise his guest

Sansa had nothing against Missandei, but she was the dragon Queen’s closest friend.

“Shall I leave?” asked Sansa

“No, please” said Missandei, darting over to join them “it was you I hoped to find. Varys said you might be here”

Wariness crept through Sansa, even as she forced a smile “Of course. What can I do for you?”

“Lady Sansa…I know you’re close with lord Tyrion”

“So the Queen thinks”

The young woman raised an eyebrow “He always spoke highly of you”

Sansa’s stomach twisted “To his detriment apparently”

“I’d have never asked him to sacrifice himself for me” she said, lowering her eyes “When the exchange was made, Grey Worm had the Unsullied ready to rescue him that night”

“Daenerys won’t rescue him” said Bran “she wants him to die”

Ice slipped down Sansa’s spine at the words. That couldn’t happen; no matter what it couldn’t happen.

“I know…what she did to him was cruel” said Missandei “Tyrion is our friend too. We don’t want him to suffer”

“Who is we?” asked Sansa

“Grey Worm and I”

“You’re the Queen’s closest friends - I don’t believe you’d choose Tyrion over her”

The woman shifted uneasily, her voice dropping to a whisper “Since we came to Westeros, Daenerys…hasn’t been the same. This talk of fire and blood, betraying Tyrion - it’s not like her”

Sansa forced her tone to remain neutral “She’s our Queen. Her decision stands”

“So you don’t plan to rescue Tyrion?”

“It would be treason, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose it would”

Missandei stepped back, her shoulders slumping “Apologies for bothering you”

Indecision warred within Sansa as the young woman left, the door to Bran’s chambers closing softly behind her.

“Did I do the right thing?” she asked

Bran shrugged “You led the North here Sansa - the decisions are yours”

The weight of responsibility fell heavily over her shoulders. She’d never been taught how to lead or make decisions; she’d been taught to obey. It was entirely possible Missandei had come to offer help in rescuing Tyrion - the guilt for his situation had been evident in her dark eyes. It was also possible Daenerys had sent her to investigate any whispers of treason. The dragon Queen had grown increasingly distrustful of Varys after all.

To trust or not to trust Missandei could have huge ramifications either way, and Sansa had made what she believed to be the right choice. Jon was brooding, Bran offered only vague insights when asked for an opinion and Arya was keen to kill Daenerys and be done with it.

There was only one other person whose advice she trusted, and he was being tortured by his own sister. 

_“Be careful in Kings Landing” she said as they made their way into the Winterfell courtyard where Daenerys troops were readying to leave “I’d rather you not die”_

_Tyrion grinned up at her “Lady Stark, it almost sounds like you’ll miss me”_

She did.

As much as she wanted to deny it, Winterfell had been far lonelier when he left. They were friends, it was normal to miss his company - to want to help him.

 _‘You miss more than his company’_ taunted her mind.

No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t miss his smile, the way he made her laugh or the warmth in his green eyes that made her feel safe. She didn’t miss working beside him or telling him the things she told no-one else.

Sansa drew in a deep breath, fighting against the feelings clawing for freedom in her heart. There wasn’t time for this. Emotion was dangerous, and right now Sansa was surrounded by enemies.

* * *

The throne at Dragonstone was far from comfortable. It didn’t matter to Daenerys; she’d have a new throne soon enough. The day after next they would attack Kings Landing. Her destiny was so close she could almost reach out and grasp it.

It was late in the evening and the throne room was empty as she sat there. It should have been silent, but she could hear them – the whispers in the walls of her ancestral home. There should be no whispers, she was Queen.

_‘Are you?’_

Yes. She was Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen.

_‘If you’re Queen, why was everyone looking at Sansa Stark?’_

Her hands curled around the arms of the throne. There’d been a meeting earlier discussing the plan for taking the Iron Throne. As Queen she’d set out the plan, the tactics - she’d been in control.

_‘They were looking to Sansa for the decisions, not you’_

She couldn’t deny it entirely - she’d seen them all glancing at Sansa. As if the wolf was somehow mightier than the dragon. Daenerys had Varys, Missandei and Grey Worm with her at the meeting - and she had Jon. Ser Davos and lord Royce had been present as had lord Glover. The wolves were there too; Arya, Bran and Sansa.

Daenerys didn’t trust them.

The wolves watched her like prey. Lord Royce and lord Glover were Sansa’s pets and Ser Davos served the wolves too, even if he was closer to Jon.

She’d never trusted Varys, but Missandei and Grey Worm were her closest friends.

_‘Wake the dragon’_

They’d betrayed her. She’d heard them whispering; heard that Missandei had spoken with Sansa.

Fire ignited in her veins at the thought of Sansa Stark.

She was like a siren whispering a song, luring her allies away. First Tyrion; then Missandei and Grey Worm.

_‘Kill the wolves’_

They weren’t to be trusted. She’d seen Arya following Jon, like a ghostly reminder the Starks were watching him. It wasn’t right. Jon was a dragon like her, and they’d made him a wolf. He needed to wake the dragon.

The faint clinking of wheels rolling over stone echoed in the empty chamber as Bran Stark was wheeled before her, pushed by Podrick Payne. Tyrion had mentioned him – he’d been loyal to him and was now loyal to the Starks.

“Your Grace” greeted Bran “you wished to speak with me?”

“I did” she said “alone if I may”

Bran nodded to Podrick and the young man reluctantly left the room, leaving just Daenerys and the three-eyed raven. Jon had made a vague attempt at explaining what Bran could do at Winterfell, but Daenerys had always found him unsettling. Even at the tactical meeting earlier he’d sat observing her, never contributing anything. Despite her unease, part of her was curious. She had a destiny to fulfil and it was possible Bran would have insight to offer.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you” she said

“Not at all” said Bran, folding his hands in his lap

“Are you enjoying Dragonstone?”

“Very much. My room offers a great view of Drogon”

Unease coiled in her stomach at his expressionless face. Everything he said had the same tone.

“I’m aware you have certain powers that come from the old Gods” she said

“I’m the three-eyed raven. I’m the world’s memory”

The Queen nodded “I understand your powers are based in the past, but you must have some idea of the future. You knew where the Night King would come for you”

“What is it you’re asking your Grace?”

Daenerys straightened on her throne. There was no point being subtle about it. Bran Stark didn’t seem to care for idle conversation any more than she did.

“I want to know about the battle to come. Will the throne be mine?”

Bran tilted his head to one side observing her “I fear I cannot see the future so clearly. The Night King and I shared a connection that made him easier to sense. All I see of the future are glimpses that change with every decision made”

“Is there anything you can tell me?”

“I see fire and blood” he said “I see Cersei Lannister dead at the true Queen’s hand”

Pride flooded Daenerys. This was excellent news; it was exactly as she wanted.

“Thank you” she said, a smile curving over her face “It’s reassuring to know I’m on the right path”

The Stark boy’s face was grim “The path you’re on has only one conclusion, your Grace”

* * *

It’s funny the way one’s mind works when you’re in agony. Tyrion’s body throbbed as he lay strapped to the table and he felt every jab from Qyburn as the man added another mark of shame to him - yet his focus was on Cersei’s flat stomach. His sister was watching as always, a smirk on her face.

“You’re not pregnant” he said, his voice barely a whisper

Almost instantly the smile dropped from her face “What did you say imp?”

“There’s no baby”

Her hand cracked across his face, snapping his head to one side. Blood filled his mouth from the force of the blow as her furious green eyes bore into his.

“Aren’t you clever?” she sneered “How long did it take you to notice?”

Cersei had been pregnant at the Dragon Pit meeting all those weeks ago - it should have been visible now. She hadn’t lied about the pregnancy; if she had she’d have taunted him for believing her. There had been a baby, but she must have lost it. Why had he only just noticed?

“I lost my baby soon after Jamie left” she said, her voice dropping to an icy whisper “Now they’re all gone. My beautiful children, Jamie…nothing else matters anymore”

A chill gripped the back of his neck. Why had he said anything? This would hurt, whatever came next. He’d angered Cersei - he would pay the price.

“Sorry…” he tried, as Qyburn restarted the jabbing at his side. He was sorry; that he’d said anything, that she’d lost the baby - he was sorry he’d ever been born.

Cersei froze at his words, before a laugh fell from her. Tyrion squirmed against the restraints but they wouldn’t budge. Cersei was laughing but there was no humour - her eyes glinted cruelly as she leaned over him. He was dimly aware that Qyburn was still working on him, but all his focus was on his sister. 

“You should be” she said “because of you Jamie is dead. The Lannister name is all but dead”

Tyrion clamped his mouth shut, not daring to speak. He’d seen Cersei angry so many times over the years, but this controlled fury was even worse. She was a monster and the last of her humanity had died with Jamie.

Her eyes trailed down his battered body to his private area. Not that it was private anymore. Qyburn had examined it more than once and Cersei wouldn’t allow him to wear clothes. He’d become so used to his nakedness the humiliation barely registered anymore.

“I had three beautiful children - perfect lions with pure Lannister blood” she said, grief twisting her otherwise ruthless face “they’re dead because of you”

“No…wouldn’t hurt them”

“Liar” she said “You shouldn’t tell lies little brother, you’ll need to be punished”

A whimper escaped him as Cersei grasped hold of his cock, her nails digging into the sensitive skin.

“You’re the only male Lannister left” she said, twisting him painfully “the only Lannister seed left”

“Please stop…”

Cersei merely tightened her grip, pulling roughly at him. Prince Oberyn had once told him she’d done the same when he was a baby - until Jamie made her stop. Only Jamie wasn’t here to stop her; no-one else would.

“I was father’s true heir” she said “the only one capable of continuing his legacy. I’d do almost anything to ensure the Lannister name lives on”

Tyrion’s heart hammered in his chest as Cersei abused him. When he thought she would actually succeed in ripping his cock off she stopped, letting his aching manhood drop back to the table.

“Some things even I can’t do. Not a piece of you will live on, no matter how much I want a child” she said, looming over him “I’d have you castrated but Qyburn thinks that might prove your breaking point. I won’t do that yet - not until I’ve truly ground you down to nothing. Perhaps when the dragon whore is dead I’ll have it done”

Tears slipped down his face as his cock throbbed in pain, joining the agony in his ruined arm and the ache that enveloped his body. Why wouldn’t she just kill him? Why did she have to touch him like that? He’d never felt so dirty - so used in all his life.

* * *

“Won’t you drink with me?” asked Daenerys, sipping her wine across from him

Jon eyed his untouched cup sat on the table between them. Never had he felt less like a drink. Somehow everything had gone wrong. He thought he knew Daenerys - that she was a good person. It was hard to pinpoint when things changed but he suspected it started with the loss of Viserion. No matter what anyone said she’d come to the North’s aid. Without her army and her dragons the Night King would have won. She sacrificed half her army defending the people of Westeros.

The people who rejected her.

The Northerners were wary of outsiders - too proud to bend the knee to the Dragon Queen. He’d done what he could to show them she was a good person; that she deserved their trust. There was grudging respect for her in the end, if no loyalty. Accepting they would have lost the war for the living without her was hard to swallow for many of the Northerners.

Things had been difficult at Winterfell but when they finally marched south it got worse. Jorah’s death had clearly hurt her and the loss of Rhaegal had been the final straw. The Daenerys sat opposite him and the one who’d came North to save him were hardly the same person.

“Some would say it’s rude to refuse a Queen’s invitation to drink” she said, lifting an eyebrow

“If you wanted a drinking partner maybe you shouldn’t have sold Tyrion”

She rolled her eyes “For the last time I didn’t sell him; he agreed to go”

Jon shook his head, searching her face for any way to get through to her. That she’d tossed Tyrion aside so easily didn’t sit well with anyone - least of all with Sansa. His sisters didn’t trust Daenerys. Jon had trusted her completely, but the woman watching him with lilac eyes had changed rapidly.

Arya’s words whispered through his mind _‘She can’t sit the throne Jon, she’d mad – she’s a danger to the family’_

There had to be some way to make this right. He hadn’t agreed with her decision to kill Jamie Lannister but the man was on his way to Cersei – to join the enemy. Daenerys wasn’t her father; there had to be a way to reason with her.

“Your Grace, can we talk about Kings Landing?”

“If you like” she said, her eyes burning into his “though I’m not sure what’s left to discuss”

“You’ll attack Euron’s fleet with Drogon?”

“Yes. They’ll burn for killing Rhaegal”

Jon nodded “How will you join us at the gates?”

“With Drogon as discussed. We will burn the Red Keep to the ground” she said, her brow furrowing “you know the plan Jon, why are we going over it?”

“Is it the best idea to bring Drogon so close to the civilians?”

“They’ve chosen their side”

“Cersei’s using them as human shields. She’s brought them inside the castle gates promising protection”

“They’re fools for trusting her”

Jon grit his teeth “You can’t mean to burn innocent people?”

“I don’t – I mean to burn my enemies”

The dragon Queen was watching him with pity, as if he was the one not making any sense.

“I don’t understand” he admitted “You say you don’t want to be Queen of the ashes, or become your father but you’re willing to kill innocents for a throne?”

Jon watched as she tilted her head, as if listening to something only she could hear. The sight stirred his stomach as Varys voice whispered in his ear _‘the signs are there’_

The Queen straightened in her seat, smiling softly at him “It’s alright that you don’t understand. Finding out who you are must have been a shock. Our words are fire and blood – it’ll make sense when you wake the dragon”

“Wake the dragon?”

“You’ve been made into a wolf when you’re not. You’re a dragon Aegon; it’s time to embrace it”

The name he’d been given at birth hit him like an arrow. How many years had he spent wishing he was more than a bastard?

“My name is Jon Snow”

“Your true name is Aegon Targaryen” she said, leaning forwards “it’s alright – I’ll help you understand what it means to be a dragon. The death of Rhaegal must have hurt you. I’m Drogon’s rider but you should spend time with him too. We’re the last dragons; we must stand together against those who would tear us down. When I sit the Iron Throne I’ll make your name official. You bent the knee to me as Queen – it won’t matter if your claim is better as long as you support me”

Daenerys’ lilac eyes were as bright as dragon fire, burning with conviction as she spoke. This wasn’t what he wanted. Arya had said he needed to choose, and he’d told her repeatedly he would always choose his family. Daenerys was giving him no such choice – she’d made the decision for him. In her eyes Jon Snow was dead.

A question burned on the tip of his tongue but he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

* * *

Various thoughts drifted in and out of Tyrion’s mind as he slumped against the wall of his cell.

Everything hurt.

He’d tried to pinpoint the source of the pain but there was so much of it now it all merged into one unending agony. He’d lost track of all the ways he’d been hurt, not that it mattered - Qyburn wrote it all down anyway.

Tyrion forced his eyes to stay open. He had to remain alert - pain and fear never left him for long. It would be here soon in one form or another.

Was it night or day?

He didn’t know anymore. He didn’t know how long he’d been here but it couldn’t be anything less than a lifetime. Remembering a time before the pain and humiliation was difficult but if he was lucky a small glimpse would come to him. He thought he might have been proud once; a real lion. That couldn’t be true though - Cersei said he’d never been a lion. He was an imp. How could he forget?

His skin crawled at the thought of his sister. She’d touched him _there_ \- like all those people who’d groped him in the streets. Shame burned through him, like flames licking the shards of his soul. It had only been once but it was enough to shatter whatever pride he had left. It wouldn’t be long now and there’d be nothing there anyway. His sister was going to castrate him and turn him into a fool. She was already planning the motely that would forever cover his face.

The cell was in total darkness but as Tyrion turned his head he saw her; lilac eyes burning into him.

“You’re nothing to me” said Daenerys, her silver hair glinting in the darkness

“We were friends” he said, his voice breaking “I’d have done anything for you”

“Fool. You deserve this”

Tyrion curled up tighter in the threadbare blanket he’d been given, willing the dragon Queen to leave him be. He hated when she visited him. How could he be so stupid? Daenerys never cared for him, no-one did. She was enjoying this; enjoying his pain.

His stomach rolled as bile clawed up his throat once more. There was something funny in the water he’d been drinking. Some days it was bitter, other days sour. He didn’t like it, but if he didn’t drink and eat the few scraps he was given the guards would pin him down and force it down his throat. Tyrion knew - he’d tried to starve himself. Unable to contain it any longer he leaned to the side, the vomit burning up his throat as it spilled into the pile already on the floor. The guards said the smell in here was awful but Tyrion didn’t notice anymore.

His eyes were refusing to stay open, but Tyrion couldn’t sleep. Who knew when the pain would start again? Last time he’d slept he’d woken to Qyburn leaning over him - scribbling in that black book of horrors.

_“Subject appears confused following exposure to modified Greycap administered through drink…” said Qyburn, writing down his observations_

_“No…” groaned Tyrion “enough”_

_The failed Maester shook his head “You’re a learned man Tyrion - your sacrifice is giving me invaluable insight into your kind. My research may one day help another dwarf”_

That was all he was - an object. Something for Cersei to abuse, Qyburn to experiment on and everyone else to mock. His whole life had been unfair; was a little kindness too much to hope for? Everyone who looked at him either hated him or wanted to use him - their eyes said it all. Cersei’s green eyes full of cruelty. Qyburn’s dead eyed stare as he cut him open. Tyrion had once thought Daenerys kind - how had he missed the madness in her lilac eyes?

Somewhere in the darkest depths of his mind another pair of eyes came to him. These weren’t like the others. They were soft and kind and so very blue. Sometimes he saw those eyes in the darkness; if he was lucky he saw a gentle smile too. Once he thought he saw long hair - red and warm.

Tyrion clung onto the image, willing it not to leave him.

It couldn’t possibly be real; no-one had ever looked at him like that. He was an imp, a monster. His mind was playing tricks on him again, but for once he didn’t mind. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t real, as long as the image stayed with him for a little while. Not for long…just so he wasn’t alone.

* * *

“Why is she calling a meeting?” whispered Sansa as the Unsullied marched them into the throne room.

Arya shrugged beside her, her grey eyes alert as the doors shut behind them.

They were to attack Kings Landing tomorrow, but Daenerys had called a sudden meeting in the throne room. Glancing at the other occupants Sansa found lord Royce, lord Glover and Ser Davos stood to one side as was Varys with Bran and Pod stood along from them. Unsullied lined the room, sending a trickle of unease down her spine. Grey worm and Missandei stood in their usual positions beside the throne though both looked uneasy – as if they didn’t know what was happening.

Daenerys didn’t seem bothered by the tension in the room, if she was even aware of it. It was Jon who drew Sansa’s focus. Unlike the Queen he did feel the unease in the air and it was written in every line of his tired face.

The eyes of the lords and siblings fell on Sansa, waiting for her to take the lead. Every instinct told Sansa this was a dangerous meeting, but she was a Stark – the wolf wouldn’t cower before the dragon.

“Your Grace” she said “is there a problem?”

“Several - but I’ll be free of them soon enough”

Sansa’s throat constricted. None of their plans to prevent Daenerys attacking Kings Landing were viable. Bran couldn’t control Drogon and her army vastly outnumbered Sansa’s men. As things stood they would join the attack on Kings Landing if only to prevent a slaughter - but it occurred to Sansa they might never leave the room. Despair fought for control of Sansa as her eyes drifted over the unsullied lining the room. If they died here, Daenerys would burn Kings Landing to the ground.

_‘People underestimated you - most of them are dead now’_

Her heart twisted at the memory of Tyrion’s deep voice and the hint of pride in his eyes when he said it.

She couldn’t die here.

If she died her men would be slaughtered. Arya and Bran would die. Tyrion would be left to suffer.

“What problems do you speak of?” said Sansa, stepping towards the throne. This woman did not scare her. A wolf cowered to no-one.

“Treason” she said. Before Sansa could counter, Daenerys turned to Grey Worm and Missandei “You both betrayed me”

“Khaleesi, no…” said Missandei, as Grey Worm moved in front of her

“My Queen, we loyal to you” he said

Daenerys shook her head and two unsullied guards stepped forwards, lowering their spears to point at the Queen’s closest allies. Grey Worm wasn’t armed but looked ready to fight until Missandei took his shoulder urging him back as the guards jabbed forwards. The two retreated until they were level with Sansa.

Satisfied with their new position, the guards returned to their place around the hall.

“Missandei of Naath, Grey Worm captain of the Unsullied - you are both found guilty of treason”

“Please, let us explain” said Missandei

“You both plotted behind my back to rescue Tyrion Lannister tonight”

“It my fault” said Grey Worm, shielding Missandei

“You’re both to blame” said Daenerys simply “Why would you go against my orders”

“You’re not yourself Khaleesi” pleaded Missandei “Tyrion was your friend - we’re your friends”

“Friends who betrayed me”

“Please, you know Cersei is hurting him. The Queen we believe in wouldn’t allow him to suffer”

“I am Queen and you disobeyed my order. You went behind my back”

Sansa caught Missandei’s eye. The woman was biting her lip, guilt hanging heavily over her face. When Missandei had come to see her Sansa had believed her concern for Tyrion was a trick, but it now appeared to have been genuine. 

“Tyrion will die” said Daenerys “and you will both join him”

At her words the unsullied lowered their spears, keeping them all grouped in the centre of the room - like lambs to the slaughter. Grey Worm had Missandei behind him, and Arya’s hand was on needle. If it came to a fight they wouldn’t stand a chance. The lords were armed as were Pod, Ser Davos and Arya but it wouldn’t be enough.

The lady of Winterfell stepped forwards, drawing the Queen’s attention “Have you considered why your closest friends would turn against you?”

“I don’t need to consider - I know it was you”

Sansa bristled at the remark “I had nothing to do with it”

“Missandei met with _you_ ” she sneered “they were plotting against me”

“Don’t blame me for your mistakes. It was your actions that turned your people against you”

“You think I don’t know my own armies are whispering against me? Betrayal will not be tolerated”

At her words several of the unsullied exchanged looks, and it was all the incentive Sansa needed. Arya and Varys had both reported mutterings in the ranks; there was a chance she could use it.

“What will you do then?” asked Sansa “Burn everyone who dares to disagree with you?”

“If that’s what it takes”

“You’ll be Queen of nothing; you’ll lose everything”

“I’m a dragon, and the rightful Queen” she said, a smile pulling at her mouth “I will take the Iron Throne with Aegon at my side and start a new dynasty for house Targaryen”

“Aegon?” snapped Arya from behind her.

Sansa forced her eyes from Daenerys smug face to Jon stood beside her. His face was twisted in a grimace and he wouldn’t look at them.

“I’m sorry” he said softly

Daenerys smile widened “Lions, wolves - all insignificant compared to a dragon. Any who oppose me will die”

“You’re mad” said Sansa, cold fury spreading through her chest “you don’t deserve the throne. You’re not a Queen - you’re a conqueror”

“The throne is mine” she snapped, her violet eyes blazing “you will not take it from me”

It was as they locked eyes Sansa saw it - the madness that had simmered below the surface now burned bright and free.

Sansa swallowed thickly, forcing her voice to be firm “I withdraw my support of you. The North will not help you to murder innocents - you are not my Queen”

Daenerys looked past Sansa, to her allies assembled behind her “Bend the knee or die”

“Never” said Arya, grasping her sword hilt

“You’re no Queen of mine” said lord Royce

“Aye” added lord Glover “my men will not fight for you”

“Westeros doesn’t want you” said Sansa “if you win the Iron Throne you’ll be a tyrant no better than Cersei”

The smaller woman glared down at her, a fire dancing in her eyes. Sansa met her gaze with her own. This was what it came down to; ice and fire.

“You can’t win” said Sansa “Surrender or we will oppose you”

A smile spread across Daenerys face “I’ve already won. I beat you Sansa Stark”

“From where I stand you’ve just lost half your support”

“You think you’re so clever, but I beat you. I took away what you wanted the most”

“What I want is my family and the North to be safe from monsters like you”

“Liar” said Daenerys “you wanted Tyrion and now you can’t have him - I won”

The words ripped through Sansa’s icy demeanour. Daenerys had claimed she got rid of Tyrion because of his divided loyalties, but now Sansa could see the ugly truth. The dragon Queen may have lost faith in him, but she’d traded him to Cersei to hurt Sansa - to put him somewhere beyond her reach.

“I’ve heard he screams all day and cries all night” said Daenerys, satisfaction curling across her face.

It wasn’t wise to provoke a wolf.

“I’ll kill you” said Sansa, her voice as cold as winter

“No, you won’t” said Daenerys, standing from her throne “Your sister and brother, the lords who stand here now and the traitors who I called friend - I will burn them all. I won’t kill you though”

Sansa was dimly aware that Pod and Arya had drawn their weapons as the unsullied guards stepped in with their spears lowered, but nothing else mattered to Sansa in that moment than the so-called Queen.

Daenerys stopped half-way down the stairs, giving her extra height over Sansa “I’ll take everything from you. When I kill Cersei and take the throne I’ll make sure you’re there to watch. Whatever remains of Tyrion Lannister will be brought before the throne and you _will_ watch as I burn him alive. When the North is burning and you’ve lost everything - only then will I allow you to die”

“You’re a monster”

“I’m a Queen” she said “I-“

The dragon Queen’s eyes widened in surprise as her words cut off.

Sansa’s eyes swept over the Queen’s surprised face to the sword sticking through her stomach and the pool of red rapidly spreading around it. It was only then she noticed Jon standing behind Daenerys, his face twisted in pain as he looked at the woman he loved “You’re my Queen - now and forever”


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The moment Daenerys fell chaos erupted. The unsullied guarding the room raised their spears to attack as the dragon Queen slumped into Jon’s arms.

“Hold” shouted Grey Worm as the men moved forwards

The room appeared deadlocked. The guards were loyal to the Queen, but Grey Worm was their captain. With Daenerys dying whose orders were they to follow?

“Stand down” ordered Grey Worm as Missandei pushed past him to Daenerys

Sansa found herself frozen as the realisation of what had just happened hit her full force. Daenerys was dying – Jon had killed her.

The unsullied had frozen at Grey Worm’s command but had yet to lower their spears. They may be safe from Daenerys but her armies were a different matter entirely. Sansa’s mind had only just begun to unlock from its paralysis when an inhuman screech shook Dragonstone.

“Drogon” hissed Arya, her grey eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape

Somehow the dragon knew its mother was dead. Sansa’s eyes moved from her sister to the silver-haired Queen lying lifelessly in Jon’s arms. Tears were racing down Missandei’s face as she turned away from her fallen friend, but it was nothing to the despair spread over Jon’s face. He’d been faced with an impossible choice; his family or the woman he loved.

“Lady Sansa, you need to take charge” whispered Varys, stepping to her side

“I can’t” she said, her chest tightening. This wasn’t what she wanted. She’d only wanted to protect her family; to get Tyrion and go home.

“You’re the only one who can”

Sansa’s eyes scanned over the room. The guards hadn’t attacked them but didn’t seem to know what to do either. Jon’s eyes hadn’t left Daenerys, and Sansa’s group were trapped in the centre of the room. She swallowed thickly as the weight of duty settled over her.

One mad Queen was dead, but there was still another to deal with.

* * *

“There have been no signs of movement from Dragonstone but I will not be caught unprepared” said Cersei, her footsteps echoing as she made her way through the corridors

“You’ve no need to worry my Queen” said Euron, a lazy smile covering his face “Your enemies will die horribly, and I’ll bring you the Targaryen girls head myself”

“I want her alive if possible - and Sansa Stark” said Cersei “I want to watch them die”

“I like a woman who isn’t afraid of blood” he said, his breath tickling her ear as he leaned over her “you’d have made a fine iron born. You kill for what you want”

Cersei forced a smile even as revulsion ran through her. Euron Greyjoy had been very useful to her - but he would never be her King. When the war was done she would need to dispose of him. The possibility of using him to father a child had passed through her mind but she couldn’t go through with it. Jamie’s children were the only ones she wanted.

The air grew colder as they descended to the cell that held her little brother. Euron was entertaining if nothing else, and for now he still had his uses. Sharing her project with him seemed an easy way to appease him. When they were finished here Euron would return to the fleet to await the dragon Queen. A lingering doubt gnawed at Cersei - Qyburn’s little birds had gone strangely silent. Daenerys Targaryen was supposed to attack today, but there’d been no reported movements. Qyburn was equally perplexed but until more whispers came to them all they could do was wait. 

The Lannister guard unlocked the cell door, stepping into the cramped space with a torch that illuminated the filthy conditions her brother resided it. The creature was slumped against the wall; curling away from them like a beaten dog in the tattered blanket he’d been given.

Euron paused as he took in the scene until his booming laugh echoed around the cell.

“Where’s all your fancy words dwarf?” he said, looming over Tyrion as he huddled away from them. The action further encouraged Euron who tore the flimsy blanket away from him; exposing his beaten, naked form.

“My friend asked you a question” said Cersei, a smirk taking over her face “it’s better not to disappoint him”

“I don’t know…” said Tyrion, his green eyes full of pleading. The sight sickened Cersei - he had no right to bear the name Lannister.

“You should be thanking your sister for keeping you alive” said Euron, grabbing Tyrion’s ankles to drag him forwards along the floor “if it were up to me I’d kill all of your kind”

Cersei watched on as Euron taunted Tyrion; prodding his injuries and teasing him with a knife. Bringing the so called King of the iron islands down here would serve two purposes. Euron would have his fun tormenting the imp, and Tyrion would suffer.

With Jamie’s death any purpose Cersei once felt had died too. Nothing else mattered but revenge now. Tyrion had been the first on her list, but soon all of her enemies would be reduced to nothing. The heads of Daenerys Targaryen and Sansa Stark would decorate the throne room as a reminder of her victory.

“Oi bring that torch here” called Euron as he climbed on top of Tyrion, his weight pinning him to the floor

The guard glanced at Cersei who nodded her permission. She’d promised to let Euron inflict a punishment on the imp after all.

Euron held his knife in the flame of the torch, heating it up as Tyrion trembled beneath him. Cersei moved behind Euron to get a better view.

He shot her a crooked grin over his shoulder “Eager to watch?”

“I wouldn’t miss it”

The first whimper fell from Tyrion as the heated blade was pressed into his skin, and the sound satisfied something deep inside Cersei. This was the justice she’d longed for.

* * *

“You did the right thing, you know” said Arya, glancing sideways at Jon as they made their way around the cliff surround Dragonstone.

“It doesn’t feel like it”

“She was dangerous Jon”

His face twisted in grief, but Arya didn’t doubt he knew the truth. Daenerys had become dangerously deluded. Arya had seen the rapid decline of her sanity since they left Winterfell and her death had become inevitable. Ideally Arya would have done it herself, but things had spiralled out of control too quickly - in the end there’d only been Jon who could have done it.

“I am sorry” she said, nudging her brother “I know how much you cared for her”

“I loved her” he said “but in the end I didn’t recognise her”

Arya nodded, continuing in silence until the dark form of Drogon came into view. The dragon had raged since Daenerys died yesterday, his screeches shaking Dragonstone as he spat flames into the sky. They’d feared the dragon would bring the castle down in its grief but it had spent the night alternating between anger and sorrow.

They stopped a distance from Drogon, watching the beast angrily prowling through the grass.

“Can we trust the unsullied?” asked Arya

“They’ll follow Grey Worm now, and he’s agreed to fight with us against Cersei”

As necessary as Daenerys death was it had caused her army to fall apart. The unsullied were soldiers; trained to follow orders. With the loss of their Queen, Arya had feared they would seek to avenge her. It had certainly seemed likely until Grey Worm stepped in. He was their captain and well-respected; following him after Daenerys had seemed the logical next step to many of the unsullied.

Last night had passed in a blur of politics, meetings and violence until a relative peace settled over Dragonstone. Grey Worm would lead the unsullied, Sansa would lead the Northern troops and the allied forces would free Kings Landing from Cersei.

That wasn’t to say the arrangement had been easily reached. Grey Worm and Missandei were grieved by the loss of their friend, but were willing to work with Sansa. The rest of the unsullied were wary. Many had seen the increasing instability of Daenerys, but didn’t trust Sansa. The Dothraki had proven the biggest problem and it had led to bloodshed throughout the night. They followed Daenerys - not Grey Worm.

The long night had killed many of the Dothraki troops and last night’s fighting had led to the loss of many more when the unsullied were rallied to contain them. There were a few hundred remaining and they’d agreed to join the attack on Kings Landing after desperate negotiations throughout the night. The promise of blood and glory in the war to come had finally persuaded them.

Plans were being finalised and last minute preparations were under way for the attack – but it would all be pointless if they couldn’t control Drogon.

“If he burns me alive don’t watch” said Jon

“You have Targaryen blood; he shouldn’t hurt you”

The dragon turned, noticing their presence. A primal fear crept through Arya as the beast’s eyes narrowed and flames erupted from its mouth – shooting into the sky above them.

“He knows I did it” said Jon, sadness hanging over his face

“The alternative was to let us all die – you know she was going to kill us”

Jon’s gaze turned downwards “I kept hoping I was wrong; that Jamie Lannister wasn’t right”

“Jamie and Varys kept saying the same about Daenerys – that the signs were there”

Jon swallowed, his face lined with tiredness “I should have acted as soon as I knew what happened with Tyrion. He was loyal to her; he persuaded me to give her a chance”

“I thought Sansa was going to attack her when she brought up Tyrion”

“I hope the things I’ve heard aren’t true”

If only Arya could share his hope. Both she and Varys had heard whispers of Cersei’s cruelty to her own brother and as much as she wanted to tell Sansa it was lies, she knew it was the truth.

“If Sansa tells me he’s her friend one more time I might have to knock some sense into her”

A half smile pulled at Jon’s mouth “Sansa’s been through a lot. You know emotions aren’t easy for her anymore”

“She’s marches half-way across Westeros for the imp and expects us to believe it’s because they’re friends?”

“Don’t push Sansa”

Arya rolled her eyes “I make no promises”

* * *

Tyrion pulled the ragged blanket tighter around him, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in his arm. Why wouldn’t Cersei forget about him? Why couldn’t she leave him to die?

He rubbed his fingers into the blanket, relishing the familiar feel. Only one hand worked now. His legs wouldn’t obey him either. All he could do was sit and wait for death.

The blanket was all he had.

It was the closest thing he had to friend.

It might be full of holes and smell funny, but it covered him up and offered some protection against the cold of the cell. Tyrion liked being alone with the blanket. He could curl up in it and pretend it was a shield. Most of all it couldn’t betray him. It couldn’t trade him away to an enemy like he was nothing. Every time he came back to his cell it was waiting for him like an old friend.

Tyrion wound his hand into the material, drawing it as close as possible. At least he wouldn’t die alone.

* * *

Hours later the rallying cries of the Northerners still echoed through Sansa’s ears as she hunched over the papers that littered her table in Dragonstone. Tomorrow they would take Kings Landing, and the North would gain independence. Many of her troops had come reluctantly to fight for the Dragon Queen, but Sansa had promised them independence and it had reignited their fighting spirit. The allied forces had agreed to remove Cersei from the throne, but beyond that Sansa’s only goals were keeping her family safe and securing an independent North.

_‘He screams all day and cries all night’_

The dragon Queen’s taunting words cut through her train of thought, sending a chill through her chest. Sansa had heard reports of what was happening to Tyrion, but she refused to let her mind linger on it. No matter what she would rescue Tyrion tomorrow and Cersei would pay for what she’d done.

After speaking to the assembled Northern troops on the mainland she’d called a meeting with the lords who’d accompanied her, as well as her siblings. Jon hadn’t come, but Sansa understood – killing Daenerys had killed part of himself. She’d thanked Jon for what he’d done and offered her condolences but it was clear he needed time.

When Sansa had presented her assembled council with a document detailing Northern independence and proposed arrangements between the two kingdoms she’d heard nothing but praise – until she revealed who’d written the document.

_“Lady Sansa, you can’t be serious” said Lord Glover, his eyes flicking between the papers and her face_

_“I’m quite serious” she said “these proposals were written by Tyrion Lannister and presented to the Dragon Queen”_

_“That would make sense of why she turned against him” agreed Lord Royce, eyeing the papers as if they may be hiding a lion_

Sansa understood their doubt. The proposals were written with a keen insight into the North and it was easy to assume it had been written by a Northerner and not a Lannister. Yet Tyrion’s hand was easily recognised and Varys had confirmed that Tyrion brought this to Daenerys. Everything in the document was detailed and well-researched. Sansa suspected there were few people in Westeros with the intellect to craft an agreement such as this – but Tyrion was one of them.

Somehow Sansa had become the unofficial leader of the alliance, and with it a heavy chain of responsibility wrapped around her. Alone in her chambers with only the walls for company Sansa voiced the thought that had eaten at her for weeks.

“I miss you” she whispered “you’d know how to handle all of this better than me”

The lady of Winterfell clamped her mouth shut before anything else could escape. She couldn’t go there; there was too much still unknown. Whatever the case she would see Tyrion tomorrow, and he’d never suffer at his sister’s hands again.

Steeling her resolve Sansa turned her attention to the letter Bran had given her when she returned to Dragonstone. The sealed document looked innocent enough but Bran’s words had made her wary of the contents.

_“What’s this?” she asked_

_“Open it when you’re alone” he instructed “Before we move on Kings Landing I thought it was important you knew. You should know all the facts before you make your decisions”_

_“You could just tell me”_

_He shook his head “You’ve never been given a choice, but you’ll get one now. Whatever you do with the information is up to you”_

Sansa had put it off as long as she could, but with night falling outside the castle Sansa knew there was no more time to delay. Breaking open the seal, her eyes quickly scanned over the contents. There were two documents; one a note and one a certificate.

Her heart crawled into her mouth as she read the certificate the High Septon had signed when she married Tyrion – and then the note from the Citadel saying an annulment had never been made.

A thousand thoughts clawed at Sansa’s mind, fighting to take control of her. Littlefinger had told her he’d arranged an annulment; that the marriage was dissolved as it had never been consummated - but that was another of his lies. How stupid had she been to believe him? Annulments weren’t easy to get, particularly between powerful families. Tyrion had been the Kings uncle. Their marriage had been a royal wedding in the Sept of Baelor. Littlefinger would not have the power to procure an annulment for such a match – and the game was all about power.

Sansa’s hands trembled as she stared at the certificate. A storm of emotions threatened to break through Sansa’s guard, but all she could do was smile.

She’d never been Ramsay Bolton’s wife. Their marriage before the old Gods was invalidated by the document in her hands that said she was the wife of Tyrion Lannister.

_‘I will never hurt you’_

Heat spread through her chest at the thought of Tyrion and the promise he’d made on their wedding day. Of all the men she’d known he was the one who’d kept his word; the one betrayed by his Queen who’d given hers.

Sansa had made a promise too. She would rescue Tyrion and unlike Daenerys it was an oath she wouldn’t break.

* * *

Tyrion shrank back as Cersei waved that thing in front of his face.

“Come now little brother, don’t you want it back?”

_‘I’ll come back for you, I promise’_

So many lies.

Tyrion had been desperate to believe so many things; that he could play the game, that he would triumph over Cersei – that Daenerys had ever been his friend.

The hand of the Queen pin he’d once been so proud of was now held in his sister’s grasp; mocking him for his stupidity.

“When I defeat your Queen I think I’ll show her what’s become of you before I take her head. Do you think she’ll feel sorry for you?”

Tyrion stayed silent. Qyburn was pottering about, gathering knives and whatever equipment he needed to pull Tyrion apart again. He tried not to pay attention anymore; even when the man described what he was doing as he cut pieces of him away. All Tyrion had to do was wait. Death would come eventually and he would eagerly surrender to its embrace when it did. His body wouldn’t work properly anymore, the cell was freezing and he was given barely enough food and water to survive – he was a weak creature, it couldn’t be much longer.

Cersei’s hand closed around his jaw, her nails digging into his skin.

“I asked you a question imp” she said, her green eyes burning into his “Will the dragon whore feel sorry for you?”

Cersei was angry. If she was angry she’d hurt him more.

“Answer, or I’ll teach you another lesson...” she said, roughly shaking his face

“She won’t care” he said, barely recognising the raspy voice as his own. It was better to play Cersei’s game. Maybe if he did she’d leave him alone.

“Why won’t she care?”

“I mean nothing to her”

A smirk pulled at Cersei’s mouth “Why do you mean nothing to her?”

“I mean nothing to anyone” he said, his chest heaving “I’m worthless”

“Are you a lion?”

“No, I’m an imp”

“Are you a Queen’s hand?”

“No”

“What are you?”

Tyrion stumbled for an answer, his heart pounding as his mind refused to come up with anything that might appease Cersei.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?” said Cersei, letting go of his face to trail her finger down his chest and across his stomach. Gods, not there again. After the first time she twisted his cock, she’d developed a habit of doing so whenever she wasn’t satisfied with his reaction to whatever torment he was enduring. Every time she did it he hated himself a little more. 

Mercifully her hand stopped just before his groin “I think here will do Qyburn”

The failed Maester leaned over him, taking note of the space “Very good, your Grace”

“See to it after you’ve finished your experiment – can’t have the little monster forgetting what he is”

“Will you be staying your Grace?”

Cersei smirked down at Tyrion, her eyes filled with hate “Regrettably not. There’s a war to fight after all”

The old man bowed his head “Of course, your Grace”

“I look forward to seeing the results later”

“You won’t be disappointed, your Grace”

A sob built in Tyrion’s throat as Cersei left him alone with Qyburn. The man’s dead eyes stared at him as if he was a lump of meat ready to be butchered. As Qyburn clamped a hand around his jaw to force some foul smelling liquid down his throat Tyrion tried desperately to detach himself from what was about to happen.

* * *

Sansa drummed her fingers against the table as her family settled into the chairs around her. The assault on Kings Landing would begin in less than an hour and Sansa had never been more nervous. Defeating Cersei was the only way to keep her family safe and win the North’s independence - the only way to save Tyrion. There was no other choice but that didn’t mean Sansa liked it. Cersei was ruthless and they were attacking where she was strongest. The thought of losing her family in the war to come sent an icy chill through her heart - Sansa wouldn’t survive that.

She glanced around the other occupants of the room; Bran, Arya and Jon. They should know the truth before they attack Kings Landing; there should be no secrets.

“Thank you for joining me” said Sansa “I know the timing isn’t ideal, but I learned something last night that I think you should know”

Bran gave her a knowing smile. Of course he knew - he’d probably known before he gave her that document.

“When Littlefinger sold me to the Bolton’s he told me - and everyone - that my marriage to Tyrion had been annulled” she said, her fingers brushing over the document sat in her lap “it turns out that was another lie”

“How do you know?” asked Arya, her brow furrowing

“I wrote to the citadel” said Bran “I thought Sansa should know the truth”

Arya nodded, her grey eyes studying Sansa’s face “So Tyrion Lannister is your husband?”

“By the laws of gods and men” said Sansa

“Are you happy about that?”

That was a good question. Answering it truthfully meant lowering her guard to examine the emotions constantly battering at her defences. It meant facing a truth Sansa wasn’t ready for.

“I’m happy I was never truly a Bolton” she answered honestly

“You’d rather be a Lannister?”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at her younger sister’s challenging stare “I’m a Stark, and I always will be”

Jon sat forwards drawing her attention “Sansa we all know you care about Tyrion. Whether you want an annulment or you want to stay married to him - it’s your choice. After all you’ve been through you deserve to be happy”

A lump formed in Sansa’s throat at his words. Neither Bran nor Arya denied what he’d said; as if they knew what she’d spent so long denying - what she couldn’t put into words.

“He’s my friend” said Sansa, heat creeping into her face

Arya rolled her eyes “Seven hells…”

Jon gave a half-smile “Whatever you say. We will rescue him - I promise”

Sansa nodded, trying to ignore the stirring in her chest “Thank you. I’d like to keep this between us…until I can talk to Tyrion”

Her family nodded their acceptance and some of the weight lifted off Sansa. Bran had said the knowledge was hers to use as she liked, but Sansa had no idea what to do with it other than tell her family. When Tyrion was safe they could deal with it - the news would likely be as surprising to him as it was to her. 

“While we’re all together, there’s something I need to make clear” said Jon, drawing their attention “when we take Kings Landing and defeat Cersei I will not claim the Iron Throne”

“Jon, you have the best claim” said Sansa. They’d never arranged it officially - there wasn’t time - but she’d assumed Jon would take the throne. Sansa had promised the North independence and who ruled that was another matter, but Jon was the true heir to the Iron Throne.

“I want no part of it. I’ll fight with my family, but when the war’s done I’m going North”

“The North will be independent” said Sansa, nodding her acceptance “You will be our King”

He shook his head “No I won’t. I’ll take the black again”

“The Nights Watch doesn’t exist anymore” said Arya

“I’m done with politics and thrones. When we’re safe, I’m going to the true North”

Sansa studied her brother. Dark circles ringed his eyes and he seemed to have aged years in the space of a day. His announcement was a dagger to her plans, but if Sansa deserved to make her own choices Jon surely did too.

“Winterfell will always be your home” she said

Jon smiled “I know”

Arya’s face had fallen at Jon’s decision, but Bran seemed impassive; as if he’d expected it.

Before they could continue a knock on the door drew their attention, and Podrick’s voice drifted in to them “The troops are ready, my lady”

Sansa’s stomach fluttered with nerves; the war was beginning.

* * *

Cersei stared out the window, her grip tightening around her wine glass as she took in the dark form of a dragon in the distance. That it was setting fire to the iron fleet was hardly surprising, but the figure riding it was.

“You’re sure?” she asked

“Quite sure, your Grace - it’s Jon Snow riding the dragon” said Qyburn

“Where’s the silver-haired whore then?”

“As you know my little birds have been oddly quiet, but it’s rumoured she’d dead”

Cersei whirled around “Dead?”

The old man nodded “Betrayed the day before they were supposed to attack”

“That would explain why they’re a day later than expected”

The Queen’s mouth turned downwards at the news. She’d wanted to kill the Targaryen girl.

“Is Jon Snow leading them now? He didn’t seem the type to want a throne”

“I believe it’s an alliance put together by Sansa Stark”

“I want her dead” said Cersei, hatred bubbling through her “bring the murderous little bitch to me”

Qyburn bowed his head, but there was hesitation lurking in his eyes “Your Grace, perhaps we should plan for an escape”

“A lion doesn’t run from its enemies” she said, sipping her wine “Euron’s fleet only need one good shot to take down the dragon. I have the Golden Company as well as my own soldiers - victory will be mine”

* * *

Arya’s feet were soundless as she slipped down the corridor, following the laughter that bounced off the dark walls until she reached the source. Varys had given her directions to where they were holding Tyrion, but rescuing him wouldn’t be possible until Cersei was defeated. While this wasn’t a task Arya would have chosen for herself she knew how important it was to Sansa.

The first thing that hit her when she made her way down here was the darkness, followed swiftly by the cold. The black cells were known to get worse the lower down you went and this was one of the lowest levels – where Tyrion had been held prisoner for weeks. Despite the blackness that clung to this level of the dungeon there were a few meagre torches spaced along the passage for the guards benefit.

Sliding along in the shadows Arya came to a stop outside an open cell door. One guard was stood in the doorway holding a torch while two more were inside – laughing as cracks echoed down the corridor.

“Oi imp, the Queen wants you to know she hasn’t forgotten you” laughed one guard, followed by a fleshy thump

“Eh Gareth, reckon I can break this?”

“If it aint already broken”

It took every piece of training Arya had to not kill all three of them then and there. She forced herself to stay in the shadows as a snap filled the air, followed by a moan of pain. On and on it went, Arya forcing herself to go deaf to Tyrion’s whimpers and cries. Those men would die, but Arya couldn’t fail her mission. Killing and hiding three bodies was too risky. Until Cersei was defeated her duty was to guard Tyrion’s cell and to do that she needed a face. If the allied forces failed, Sansa had given orders that Tyrion be smuggled out through the passageways despite his injuries. Podrick and a group of unsullied were on standby in case that course of action became necessary, but it was far from ideal. Arya needn’t look in the cell to know Tyrion was in no condition to be moved. 

If all went to plan Arya would blend in as a Lannister guard until Sansa came down here to get Tyrion – if she wasn’t here by nightfall they would move to the back up plan.

Before the assault began Bran told them he’d been sending ravens for the past week summoning the lords of Westeros to Kings Landing as well as requesting Maesters and healers. They’d asked him why of course, but Bran had merely said it seemed necessary. Arya had found Bran’s words and actions were rarely pointless. For him to take such steps Arya took it as a sign they would be victorious. The three-eyed raven had stayed with Missandei and a small number of guards some distance from Kings Landing, though she didn’t doubt her brother was watching the proceedings.

After what seemed like a lifetime, the guards moved out of the cell. The light of the torch was enough to illuminate the splatters of blood on their armour.

“Think the Queen will be pleased?” asked one guard

“Reckon she will. As long as we don’t kill him”

“Poor bastard’s practically begging for death”

The cell door was locked again and after several more jokes at Tyrion’s expense, the two guards moved off leaving only one behind to guard the door.

The death was far too quick as Arya stepped from the shadows and slipped needle through his neck. The man slumped against the wall as his eyes closed and Arya guided him down. The guards had taken the torch leaving only the dim lights of the corridor. The door to Tyrion’s cell was mostly wooden with a metal grille in the middle, though the poor lighting made it difficult to see anything. The darkness did nothing to hide the muffled sobs coming from the other side though. For a moment Arya was tempted to try and talk to Tyrion; to tell him Sansa was coming.

Reluctantly she turned away from the door, drawing her knife to prepare the face she needed. It was better that things appeared unchanged for now, though guilt gnawed at Arya for leaving Tyrion in his suffering. If things went well Sansa would be here soon; but Arya knew seeing what had happened to Tyrion would break her heart.

* * *

The wind whipped through Jon’s dark hair as Drogon incinerated the ships before them. The scorpion bolts shot inches from them but Jon urged the dragon forwards. It was these ships and weapons that had killed Rhaegal, and Drogon seemed to know it. Getting the dragon to accept him as rider had been fraught to say the least - the edges of his cloak were still charred from the encounter. Jon remembered Tyrion commenting on how intelligent dragons were, and Daenerys had thought of them as her children.

Jon didn’t know about any of that - all he knew was Drogon was as angry as he was. That they’d both lost someone they loved, but somehow knew Daenerys wasn’t herself. Euron’s fleet was a smouldering heap on the water as Drogon destroyed it, but Jon’s eyes searched for the man himself. 

They swooped low over the water where the bodies of the dead and dying littered the wreckage. It was then Jon saw him pulling himself ashore on some rocks. He was limping but he’d avoided most of Drogon’s rage - abandoning his ship and men when he realised it was a slaughter.

Jon urged the dragon low enough to dismount, drawing his sword as Euron turned to face him.

“Where’s the dragon bitch?” he asked, water dripping from him “You aint half as pretty bastard”

“You left your men to die” said Jon, his hand tightening around long claw

“I can get more men, there’s only one me” he said, shrugging as he drew his own weapon “besides your Queen traded in her pet dwarf”

“You’re a coward”

The smile dropped from his face “No-one calls me that - especially not a bastard like you”

Euron charged in, swinging his sword downwards as Jon brought his blade around to block. The steel clashed as Jon Snow’s fury found a release.

* * *

Death was everywhere as Sansa walked through the wreckage of the city gates.

The Golden Company had been the first line of defence but the savagery of the Dothraki horde and the discipline of the Unsullied had eventually overwhelmed them, with the Northern forces fighting ferociously for the independence they’d been promised. The allied forces had seen far more losses than it would have with Daenerys plan - but bringing Drogon near civilians was too dangerous. The dragon would have obliterated the Golden Company, but there was no telling how much more damage he could have caused. Aside from that, Jon’s relationship with the dragon was tenuous at best. Varys seemed to share her thoughts on the situation.

“This was the right course of action lady Sansa. Daenerys plan risked the lives of innocents” said Varys, scrunching his nose at the sight of a man with a severed head lying in the street.

“Do you think this will work?” she asked

“I believe there’s a chance” said Varys “It’s the Lannister captains we need - and they are more likely to favour Tywin Lannister’s son over his daughter”

“If they don’t?”

“Then there will be a battle and more lives lost; but I don’t think it will come to that”

“Lady Sansa” called Brienne, jogging over to them. Blood streaked her sword and armour but she appeared relatively unharmed “We have them”

The lady of Winterfell followed her sworn shield through the ranks until she reached the small square where both armies were facing each other. The Lannister guards had their swords ready to fight, but appeared reluctant to do so. Grey Worm stood at the head of the allied forces; his spear held ready. It was when Sansa reached him she heard the shout.

“Ring the bells!”

Several more followed, echoing around the empty streets. Sansa turned to Grey Worm, her chest tightening “There are civilians out here?”

He nodded “They hiding”

She knew Cersei had brought many of the people within the gates of the Red Keep promising protection, however much of a lie it was. Yet the population of Kings Landing wouldn’t all fit - the ones who weren’t inside the walls had been left to hide in their homes as a battle raged around them. Sansa’s throat tightened recalling the riot in Kings Landing all those years ago. She’d been terrified and these innocent people surely felt the same having been left in the middle of a warzone. If Daenerys had attacked the city with Drogon it would have been a massacre.

A dragon screeched behind them and Sansa didn’t need to turn to know Jon had returned. He would keep Drogon away from the city, but the Lannister guards didn’t know that. To them a fiery death loomed in the distance.

Sansa’s stomach twisted with nerves as she stepped forwards, though her voice remained steady as she addressed the Lannister guards “We come today to end the rule of a tyrant – of a woman responsible for countless deaths”

“You serve the dragon Queen!” shouted one man

“You’re here to kill us!”

Sansa straightened her back as the other leaders of the allied forces stood behind her. They’d chosen her to speak; to represent them.

“That is another of Cersei’s many lies. Daenerys Targaryen fell to madness, and is now dead” she said, muttering breaking out through the Lannister ranks “Westeros has seen enough of madness. Enough cruelty, lies and manipulation to last a lifetime. All of us here today want different things – but an end to Cersei Lannister unites us all”

“She’s our Queen” called one guard “We are sworn to serve her”

“You are sworn to serve the lord of Casterly Rock. Following the death of Ser Jamie Lannister, Tyrion Lannister is your rightful lord”

An older man stepped forward, his face grave “He was disinherited, Cersei is the lady of the Rock as well as Queen”

Sansa shook her head, raising her voice so it would reach all of the assembled soldiers – they needed to know the truth.

“That is another of Cersei’s lies. Lord Tyrion was never formally disinherited and by all the laws of the land is the lord of Casterly Rock” said Sansa, levelling her gaze on the older man “Your loyalty should be to him”

Sweat trickled down Sansa’s back as the men turned to each other. Her own forces were ready to attack at a moments notice but whether it would be necessary was a different matter entirely. Varys had suggested there was dissent in the ranks over Cersei’s treatment of Tyrion, and it hadn’t taken much research to find Tyrion hadn’t been formally disinherited. To do so a royal decree would need to be issued which was never done. However clever Cersei thought herself arrogance was her undoing. She’d believed the Lannister forces loyalty to her would be unquestioned, and it had for as long as Ser Jamie was alive. Now the truth was out there and all that remained was to see whether the path to the Red Keep would be bathed in blood.

Sansa drew in a breath as the allied forces readied for battle behind her “I ask you now; who do you serve?”

* * *

Arya brought the torch near the metal grille, peering in to try and see Tyrion. It didn’t make much difference; all she could see was a small, covered form curled up in the far corner of the cell. Reluctantly she pulled the torch away, returning it to the holder in the corridor.

At least his crying had stopped.

For hours Arya had stood wearing the previous guards face, trying to ignore the whimpers and cries coming from inside the cell. She was sure she’d heard Tyrion speaking at one point, but his voice was so quiet and muffled it was impossible to work out what he’d been saying.

Not long ago two young guards had arrived to feed the prisoner, though thankfully they hadn’t seemed familiar with the guard whose face and clothes she wore. If Arya was going to take a face she would normally study the target first but there simply hadn’t been time. The guards had spoken briefly with her but Arya was immediately aware they were trying to get rid of her.

There was no part of Arya that wanted to leave Tyrion at the mercy of more guards, but she couldn’t afford to draw attention to herself either. The only way to ensure success was to play her part. Reluctantly she’d accepted their offer of a break to take a piss, though she’d hidden herself in the shadows down the corridor rather than leave. Her main purpose in being down here was in case Cersei decided to kill Tyrion. It was always possible she would try and finish him off if she knew the war was lost. The disguise Arya wore was too bulky for stealth, but the darkness of the black cells had worked in her favour.

To her surprise the guards hadn’t beaten Tyrion as the previous ones had.

_“Drink this m’lord” urged one voice “it’ll numb the pain”_

_“Bloody hell” murmured the other “look what they did to him. If we get caught we’re gonna join him”_

_“I can’t take it anymore. I wanted to be a knight, not doing shit like this”_

_“People reckon we’re monsters because of the Queen. I wanted to protect people”_

_“Some of the other men are enjoying this; as if he’s not our lord”_

_“Careful” hissed one man “Don’t know what side the other guard is on...”_

Arya had listened on as the two guards tried to get Tyrion to eat and drink. She hadn’t seen Tyrion herself, but what she’d heard was enough to turn her stomach. From what she could gather the guards had given Tyrion some kind of sedative, judging by how he fell silent not long after. As kind as the act was Arya wasn’t sure it was safe. The whispers she and Varys had heard suggested Qyburn had been using him to experiment on, and Tyrion’s mutterings didn’t bode well for his mental state. Gods knew what he’d been given down here and adding another concoction into his system was far from ideal.

 _‘Hurry up Sansa’_ she thought, straightening in her position outside the door _‘he’s going to need you’_

* * *

The view from Cersei’s window spread across Kings Landing, though it didn’t give her any real indication of how the battle was going. The city was little more than a sprawling mess in the distance. It was the dragon flying just on the outskirts of the city that caused her heart to beat faster. The iron fleet had been destroyed and Qyburn’s latest intelligence suggested the Golden Company had fallen as well.

Useless - all of them.

The dragon had made no moves to approach the city and Cersei could only assume either Sansa Stark or her bastard brother were too weak to use the greatest weapon they had. Instead the dragon Queen’s forces had attacked alongside the Northerners despite the reported death of Daenerys Targaryen. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth - she’d wanted to kill the silver-haired whore.

Qyburn moved to her side, his forehead creasing as he looked out over the city.

“What is it?” she asked

“I can hear no sound of battle, your Grace”

“Perhaps it’s over. Their army will be weary from fighting through the Golden Company, while the Lannister army is still fresh. My father drilled our soldiers to the highest standards - an alliance of savages wouldn’t stand a chance”

The old man rubbed his chin, doubt lurking in his eyes “It’s possible…though the silence out there is rather troubling”

Now that Qyburn had pointed it out, silence was all Cersei could hear too. No sounds of battle, cries of victory or defeat - it was as if the city had stopped functioning entirely.

It was almost an hour later that Cersei received word the Lannister forces had been victorious and the traitors were being brought into the throne room.

Cersei’s heart swelled with excitement as she made her way to the throne room. Ser Gregor lumbered behind them as four Lannister guards fell into step beside her and Qyburn. Finally she had victory over her enemies. The Starks would be no more and the North would fall into line with her rule. History would be what she made it. No-one need know the dragon Queen was dead before the assault - Cersei would make sure the lion’s victory over the dragon and wolves was remembered as hers.

“Your Grace, I dare say something about this doesn’t seem right” said Qyburn

“Your warnings are always welcome, but in this case I fail to understand your reasons” said Cersei, glancing sideways at the man

“It seemed rather easy. If Sansa Stark’s forces were losing why would they not use the dragon?”

“They’re too weak. The dragon would destroy everything in its path including the people left in the city. The Starks are too soft-hearted to do what is necessary”

Qyburn nodded, but Cersei knew he wasn’t convinced. What he said was true - if you had a dragon you would use it. Yet Cersei knew how the Starks thought. They’d all die for their honour rather than do what it took to win.

Lannister guards lined the halls as she swept into the throne room. Cersei didn’t spare the prisoners a glance until she ascended the steps and sat on the Iron Throne.

When she finally turned her attention to the packed hall, her eyes immediately fell on Sansa Stark, before sweeping over the rest of the prisoners. There were at least twenty unsullied, as well as a mixture of Northerners, Knights of the Vale and a few Dothraki. The tall woman who’d returned with Jamie to Kings Landing stood beside the Stark girl, as did a few lords she vaguely recognised as belonging to the North or the Vale. Not that it mattered who they were - they were all going to die.

“Is this all of them?” she asked, as Qyburn and Ser Gregor took their places near the throne

The Lannister soldiers lined the room, blocking off all the exits as an older man stepped forward “No, the rest are stood outside”

“Why?”

“They wouldn’t fit inside, your Grace”

Cersei wrinkled her nose at the odd answer. Had they surrendered? There was no need for so many prisoners. 

“Very well. Execute all of the Unsullied and Dothraki as well as any Northerners you find. Any prisoners of value are to be brought to my personal attention” said Cersei, a smirk curving over her face as she looked down at Sansa “Have my brother brought here - I want him to watch his former allies die”

“Your Grace” whispered Qyburn “something is very wrong…”

The warning went unheeded; Cersei was too drunk on victory - on having her enemies before her at last. She locked eyes with Sansa, her lip curling in satisfaction “Shouldn’t you be on your knees little dove? Come now; sing me a song of how you’ll be loyal to me - how you’d never commit any treason”

The Stark girl lifted her head, her eyes an icy blue “You really are the stupidest Lannister”

“Watch your tongue little dove, or you may find it’s no longer in your mouth” said Cersei, narrowing her eyes “Your death won’t be quick. Perhaps I’ll reunite you with your former husband - the imp could use some company”

“You’ll pay for what you’ve done to Tyrion”

“You stupid little girl - I’m going to kill you, and decorate the throne room with your head”

“I think not”

Anger rolled through Cersei as Sansa Stark stared up at her, her face showing no fear. The Queen forced herself to examine the prisoners more closely. It was then she noticed many of them still had weapons. Not that it really mattered - they were well outnumbered by her guards. Her men should have seized their weapons before bringing them here though; carelessness wouldn’t be tolerated. Despite their position the prisoners didn’t seem to fear their fate. She would have to change that - they should be on their knees begging for a mercy she wouldn’t give.

“Trying to be as stoic as your father?” she taunted “It’s a thin mask on you that won’t survive the pain to come. My little brother tried that too - he thought he was being so brave. Deluded fool actually thought the dragon whore cared about him. The truth soon broke him down”

The Stark girl’s face tightened for the briefest moment, as if the words had slipped through the icy image she was projecting. Cersei didn’t have time to contemplate it however.

“Your Grace” hissed Qyburn “we need to leave”

“Guards” called Cersei, ignoring Qyburn’s pleas “I gave you your orders. Kill them all apart from the Stark bitch and the tall creature that’s supposed to be a woman - I want to take my time with them”

No-one moved.

A trickle of nerves crept through Cersei though it was quickly drowned out by anger as she turned to the older Lannister guard who’d stepped forwards “Did you not hear me?”

“I heard you” he said, not moving from his position

Cersei whipped her gaze around the room - why was no-one moving?

“As your Queen I command you to kill these traitors”

“They don’t serve you” called Sansa, moving forwards “they know the truth now”

“What truth would that be?” she hissed

“That Tyrion is their rightful lord - that he was never formally disinherited. You’ve spent weeks torturing their lord, making them guilty of the same crime”

“The imp is a kinslayer, a traitor and a monster. He has no right to life, let alone Casterly Rock!”

“I’ve heard enough” said Sansa, turning to the lords stood around her “Remove her and Qyburn - and kill her guard”

At Sansa’s command the Lannister guards drew their weapons as a number of the Stark forces moved forwards.

Cersei was vaguely aware of Qyburn pulling on her arm and Ser Gregor lumbering past her to fight. She could see the Lannister guards lining the room with their swords drawn to prevent her escaping - yet all she could focus on was the Stark girl stood before her.

_‘Queen you shall be, until there comes another…’_

The words sang through Cersei’s mind as she stared into the icy blue eyes of Sansa Stark. Tall and graceful with long red hair framing her pale face.

_‘…younger and more beautiful…’_

No, this couldn’t be happening. The lion bowed to no-one; the throne was hers. 

_‘…to cast you down and take all you hold dear’_

Ser Gregor was fighting but it was useless, some of the Lannister guards had joined with the allied forces to overwhelm him. Even Qyburn’s enhancements couldn’t save him from a decapitated head. Hands grabbed at Cersei, pulling her from the throne as a scream tore from her throat. 

* * *

Sansa’s footsteps rang out through the darkness as she followed Varys into the black cells. Pod and Grey Worm accompanied her as they wound their way closer to Tyrion. Cersei and Qyburn had been arrested and were being held prisoner on a higher level of the black cells for now, with a group of unsullied guarding the cells. The Lannister soldiers may have turned on Cersei but that didn’t mean Sansa trusted them near Tyrion, or guarding Cersei. Fortunately their captain - an older man called Godwin seemed to understand.

_“I appreciate your support in this matter” said Sansa, as the Lannister captain sent off some of his men with new orders_

_The man nodded “Please understand - many of us disliked what Cersei was doing. We aren’t all monsters”_

_“Certainly” said Sansa “but if half of what I’ve heard is true Tyrion isn’t going to trust Lannister guards”_

_The man’s shoulders slumped, remorse covering his face “I fear you are correct. Nevertheless our swords belong to lord Lannister. We will guard his rooms and serve him faithfully - though I doubt he will welcome our presence”_

There wasn’t a chance in hell Sansa would let the Lannister guards take care of Tyrion. For weeks they’d imprisoned him, watching Cersei shame him while doing nothing.

Sansa had been desperate to come straightaway, but things needed to be put into place. Godwin had sent out the Lannister forces to help the people of Kings Landing back into their homes and clear up the mess from the battle with the Golden Company. Bran had clearly been watching through the raven’s eyes for no sooner was Cersei arrested did he arrive with Missandei and a number of healers. Jon and Drogon had landed in the Dragon Pit according to reports, and he’d take command of the Northern troops to assist the clean-up efforts. The war was done but there was so much left to decide; not least who sat on the Iron Throne.

For now she pushed all those thoughts aside; she needed to see Tyrion.

“We’re here my lady” called Varys, gesturing to a lone guard stood outside a cell. The air was frigid and the whole corridor was steeped in an inky blackness that sent a chill down Sansa’s spine.

She approached the guard, staring into the brown eyes of a middle aged man with a light brown beard.

“The lone wolf dies” she said

The guard’s face twisted into a grin “The pack survives”

Sansa signalled to the others who quickly worked to unlock the door as Arya pulled off her face, causing Grey Worm to mutter a curse in Valyrian.

“It’s done” said Sansa “the Lannister guards turned on Cersei”

“Good” said Arya “Is Jon ok?”

“Yes. He destroyed Euron’s fleet, and Bran’s just arrived” she said, her eyes moving to the cell door “How is he?”

“I’ve not been in” said Arya, the smile dropping from her face “he…he sounds bad Sansa”

As soon as the lock clicked open Sansa turned her attention to the cell. Pod and Grey Worm stood back to let her through as Varys held the torch in the doorway. The cell was little bigger than a box as Sansa stepped inside, though the first thing that hit her was the rancid smell of vomit, blood and gods knew what else.

She drew in a sharp breath as her eyes moved over the filth covered floor to the figure shaking in the back corner.

“Tyrion?” she asked, stepping closer to him. The light of the torch was enough to illuminate the small figure huddled in a blanket though Sansa’s mind refused to accept this was Tyrion.

She crouched down closer to him, her throat tightening as he curled away from her.

“No more...please...let me die” he cried, tugging the threadbare blanket around himself

Tyrion’s once wild, golden hair had been sheared down to an uneven stubble all over his head making the old scar across his face stand out even more. Sansa was grateful for the scar – without it she might not have recognised Tyrion. He was trembling in his blanket, his green eyes wide and terrified as he looked at them.

“It’s alright” she told him, her voice wavering “you’re safe now”

“Not again” he cried “please no...”

Piece by piece Sansa’s walls crumbled, giving way to an avalanche of long repressed feeling – too many for her to possibly process. One stood out above the others as she held her hand out to Tyrion and something warm trickled down her face.

“I’ll protect you Tyrion – I promise”


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Opening the door to Tyrion’s cell had done what both Daenerys had Cersei had failed to do – it had shattered Sansa’s walls into a thousand pieces. The image of a grinning Tyrion with curly golden hair and bright green eyes was ripped away from her, replaced by the broken man they found in the dungeons. Tyrion had whimpered, cried and curled away from her when she tried to approach him. Sansa had spent some time talking softly to him, promising he was safe and they were going to help him but it hadn’t made any difference.

Sansa had tried to peel the blanket away from him to check his injuries, but he’d begged and pleaded for her to leave him be – to let him die. It had become obvious very quickly that Tyrion didn’t recognise her or anyone else. His eyes were huge and Arya had mentioned a couple of Lannister guards giving him something for the pain earlier. The blanket was thread bare and covered in dried blood, excrement and all manner of unpleasantness but Tyrion’s left hand had clutched it around him like a lifeline and Sansa figured it was better to leave him be for now. The cell was draughty and smelt like death – getting Tyrion out was the first priority.

Unfortunately that was easier said than done.

In the end she’d asked Grey Worm to pick him up, despite the heart-breaking sobs he was trying to stifle as they moved him.

“Please, no more...” he cried, trembling in Grey Worm’s arms as they made their way out into the corridor

“It ok Tyrion, I not hurt you” said Grey Worm, adjusting his grip around him

Pod had been sent to find the best healers and set up a room while they took Tyrion from the black cells. Varys held the torch closer to Tyrion as they moved from the cell and into the corridor. The darkness was hiding a lot, but the faint orange glow was enough to illuminate the bleeding gash above his left eye and the bruising around his face. Some of the marks were faded while others looked recent – they all made bile burn up Sansa’s throat.

She moved around Grey Worm until Tyrion could see her, forcing a smile “We’re your friends Tyrion, you’re safe with us, ok? We just want to help you”

Tyrion didn’t answer though he squirmed weakly in Grey Worm’s grasp.

“Lady Sansa, we must get him out of here” said Varys, pity filling his eyes as he looked at Tyrion

Reluctantly she tore her eyes from Tyrion, dropping just behind Grey Worm as Varys led them out of the black cell.

“I’m sorry” said Arya. Somehow her sister had shed the rest of her disguise while she was in the cell, and was now wearing her own face.

“This isn’t your fault”

“When I got down here there were Lannister guards beating him. They enjoyed it Sansa”

A chill crept down her spine at her sister’s warning “Understood. They turned on Cersei but I certainly don’t trust them”

“A couple of them did try and help him”

“Too little, too late” said Sansa, as they hurried along the corridors “Would you remember the guards who hurt him?”

“I was wearing one of their faces”

“Arya, I need to know who’s loyal to Tyrion and who isn’t”

Her sister nodded, a grim light in her grey eyes “I’ll look into it”

They’d just made it back to the ground floor of the Red Keep when Podrick reappeared, his face bright red and beaded with sweat “They’re waiting for him...a room upstairs...”

Sansa’s mind was a battlefield as they made their way upstairs. Every cry from Tyrion cut into her like a knife and it made a liar of everything she’d told herself. At the same time the Red Keep brought her nothing but unpleasant memories. The Lannister guards everywhere, the icy fear in her gut – she felt little more than a child again.

When they eventually made it to the room Pod had been directed to Sansa was instantly suspicious. There were six Maesters waiting for them of varying ages, some with heavier chains than others.

“Lady Stark” greeted one man, his beard short and sharp in contrast with his round bald head “You have need of us?”

Protectiveness reared in Sansa as the Maesters eyed the trembling Tyrion, still cocooned in his blanket as Grey Worm held him. Why so many of them? They weren’t here out of concern for Tyrion that was for certain. Sansa was about to tell Grey Worm to take Tyrion back until Varys caught her arm.

“No-one sits the Iron Throne at present, but you are the one who defeated Cersei. Grand Maester is a vacant position, and you are seen as the likely successor to the throne” he whispered

“I don’t want it” she hissed back, eyeing the men as they waited around an empty table in the middle of the room

“The throne is yet to be decided” he said, disappointment in his tone “but you can use this temporary power to help our friend”

Sansa wavered, glancing between the assembled Maesters and Tyrion. They didn’t care for him, they wanted to use him to buy favour with who they thought would be Queen – why should she hesitate to use them?

“Set him down” said Sansa, nodding her assent to Grey Worm

Almost instantly the Maesters surrounded him and Tyrion’s whimpers turned to cries of terror. Grey Worm’s face pulled into a deep frown as he stepped back from the table, while both Podrick and Varys looked pained.

“I’ll take my leave unless you have need of me” said Varys “I fear I don’t have the stomach for this”

Sansa nodded distractedly “There’ll need to be a meeting to decide the throne. Bran’s sent out ravens already...”

He patted her arm “I will assist in organising it”

“You want us stay?” asked Grey Worm, turning away from the table

“Will you guard the door?” she asked

“Of course” he said

“I will too” said Pod, casting a sad glance at the swarm of Maesters “unless you want me to stay in here?”

“It’s alright” she said “I’ll call you in if needed”

When the two men had left the room Arya turned to her “You don’t have to stay – you aren’t responsible for Tyrion”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at her sister “I’m not leaving him”

“I’m only saying don’t feel like you have to be here. You wanted to rescue him and now he’s safe; no-one will blame you if you don’t want to deal with this”

“You might not care about him, but I do” she said, dropping her voice dangerously low “I am not leaving him alone”

Arya sighed, rolling her shoulders “Alright. I’ll leave you to it then”

The door closed softly behind Arya and Sansa drew in a deep breath, steadying her nerves. Despite what she’d told Arya part of her didn’t want to see this. Hearing whispers of what had happened to Tyrion and seeing the damage were not the same thing. Whatever awaited her on the table would shatter the image of Tyrion that had found a home in her heart.

She hesitated only a moment longer, allowing herself to remember his hand closing around hers and the kiss on the back of it that somehow promised they’d both survive the long night.

 _‘I’ll never hurt you’_ whispered the voice she knew so well

“I’ll protect you” she whispered to herself, before moving to Tyrion’s side

Some of the Maesters weren’t keen to let Sansa through when she approached the table.

“You’ve no need to stay lady Stark” said one man, his chain clinking as he shook his head “we will handle lord Tyrion”

“This is hardly a woman’s place” said another

“I’m not leaving him” she said, narrowing her eyes at the men

Most were quite elderly, reminding her sharply of Pycelle. The thought of the creepy Grand Maester sent her stomach into knots. Tyrion would not be left alone with these strangers, no matter how much it offended their pride to have her here.

The one who’d greeted her at the door nodded to the others and a path was cleared to let her next to the table. Tyrion was still clutching at his blanket, shaking on the table as tears slid down his face. The better lighting in the room allowed Sansa to see his face properly and the sight made her throat tighten. Bruises and cuts covered his face, including a line of stitches that crossed the bottom part of his scar. The wound looked a few days old at least and cut diagonally from the bottom of his scar to his jaw. Blood covered his face from the gash above his left eyebrow and a deep purple ringed the eye. Sansa’s gaze wandered to his head and the patchy golden hair he’d been left. Most of it had been sheared down to nothing though a few tufts remained, giving him the look of a mad vagrant. It wasn’t right – Tyrion was a lord, he wasn’t supposed to look like this.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked, pulling her eyes from Tyrion to the group of Maesters watching

Things moved quicker after that though it only deepened her anger. Varys was right that many of these men wanted her favour. They didn’t care for Tyrion at all. Nonetheless Sansa would use them. A stool was brought over for her so she could sit next to Tyrion’s head while the Maester’s discussed how to approach this. Bits of their conversation drifted through Sansa’s ears as she watched over him.

“This is Qyburn’s work no doubt”

“His pupils are huge and he’s not responding to questions – there’s some sort of concoction in his system”

“Undoubtedly, but if Qyburn’s involved it could be anything”

Much was said before anything was actually done. They examined his eyes and the bleeding gash on his head, but Tyrion flinched from their every touch – squirming and shaking on the table.

Sansa wouldn’t leave, but she didn’t entirely know what to do either. Her feelings for Tyrion were something she’d buried deep inside her. The document nestled in the folds of the gown told her this man was her husband, but to both of them their marriage had been a sham. Aside from that she didn’t know how Tyrion felt about her. She swallowed thickly, reaching out to brush her finger against the side of his face.

It didn’t matter how Tyrion felt about her. Somehow he’d found his way past her defences to a place long buried. Whether he wanted her with him now was impossible to know, but she wouldn’t leave his side until he was well enough to ask her to.

 _‘Until you’ve healed, until you’re you again – you’re under my care’_ she thought, letting her finger brush away the dampness on his cheek _‘what happens after that we’ll decide together’_

The blanket had to go – that was the first priority.

Unfortunately Tyrion wasn’t willing to part from it.

Whatever meagre strength he had left clung to the filthy blanket that covered his body. It occurred to Sansa as a couple of Maesters tried to prise it from him that he was only clutching it with one hand. 

“Hold him down” ordered the old Maester with a pointed beard. She’d heard another man call him Gallard

“No...please” cried Tyrion, his voice weak and scratchy as he tried to escape the hands grabbing at him

“Shh, you’re ok” soothed Sansa, stroking his cheek “let us help you. You’re safe now”

It did nothing to settle him as the blanket was torn away from him and thrown in the corner; a heart-wrenching sob escaping him as it was done. Sansa wanted to reassure him, but her eyes drifted over his exposed body and every comforting word died in her throat.

* * *

“Did you really tell Sansa to leave him?” asked Jon, raising an eyebrow at her

Arya sighed “I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant he wasn’t her responsibility”

“You know how she feels about him”

Turning away from Jon, she drew her attention to the Iron Throne. A mix of Unsullied and Lannister guards were stood guarding it but the seat itself was vacant. Arya didn’t understand why anyone would want to sit there. The power it gave came at a terrible price.

“Not tempted?” asked Arya, glancing sideways at Jon

His jaw clenched “No. I told you I’m going North”

“Sansa doesn’t want it either. She just wants Northern independence”

“Whether she gets it or not depends on who sits in that chair” 

* * *

“I’m sorry” said Sansa, brushing her fingers down the side of Tyrion’s face “I’m so sorry”

Tyrion didn’t settle no matter how much she tried to soothe him and it only added to her guilt. He’d become near hysterical when the blanket was torn away from him and the sight that met Sansa had been enough that she’d lurched away from him to be sick.

The flush of embarrassment at seeing his naked body had quickly been replaced by horror at his injuries and she’d left his side while the Maesters checked him over. That wouldn’t do; she’d promised to protect Tyrion – that he was under her care.

Sansa had thrown up twice before getting herself under control and returning to Tyrion. He was shaking and flinching as the Maesters examined him, tears streaming down his face. She kept her focus on his face, refusing to look at the injuries that covered him as she whispered apologies. Sansa was here to help him, not add to his distress. While she hadn’t expected him to be naked under the blanket, turning away from him had nothing to do with his body and everything to do with the broken mess he’d been left as.

The group of Maesters were studying Tyrion as if he was a project – all had their own ideas on how to treat him. Of the six waiting to treat him when he was brought in only four remained. One had suggested they give Tyrion enough milk of the Poppy to ease his passing; a suggestion she’d immediately refused.

_“How dare you?” she’d growled_

_“Gods have mercy on him he’s suffered enough. There is no fixing this lady Stark – better to let him die a clean death than linger in agony”_

Needless to say Sansa had dismissed the Maester, warning any of the others who shared the same view to leave. Another old man had left with him, leaving Gallard and three other men in the room with them.

She sighed, realising Varys was correct. The lady of Winterfell would not have the power to dismiss the Maesters, but they believed she was to be the new Queen – whether they agreed with her or not it was better to obey. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. She wanted nothing more than to leave Kings Landing far behind her, but she wouldn’t leave without Tyrion. For now the priority was getting him the best care possible so she could take him home.

“Not again...” whimpered Tyrion, squirming weakly on the table “please no”

Reluctantly Sansa tore her eyes from Tyrion’s face to see what was going on. Gallard and two other Maesters were examining his private area, pressing down on his legs and stomach to keep him still. Sansa’s throat tightened at the sight. Sansa hadn’t lingered looking at his injuries but she’d noticed the bruising around that area immediately – though his whole body was bathed in black and blue.

“It’s alright” she told Tyrion “no-one will hurt you”

Against her will her eyes moved to his chest and the drawing that sat above his heart. Tyrion was covered in filth and blood but she could still make out the drawing depicting the hand of the Queen badge he’d once been so proud of. It sat exactly where it had on his tunic; there to mock him no doubt – a reminder of the betrayal that had cost him so much. Sansa had noticed a few other ink drawings on his body, though they were words rather than images; imp, kinslayer. A cruel way to humiliate him, but ultimately pointless – Sansa would make sure it was all washed off later. At the very least she could give him back a piece of his dignity.

Tyrion lurched on the table, gut-wrenching sobs escaping him as the Maesters continued to prod and probe him. Sansa had asked them why not give him something to let him sleep through this, but Maester Gallard had shaken his head.

“ _Too dangerous my lady. We don’t know what’s in his system but given Qyburn is involved it could be a mixture of anything. Flushing it fully from his system could take days”_

_“Is that why he’s confused?” she asked_

_“It’s likely a combination of many things; whatever concoctions he’s been given mixed with the extensive trauma he’s suffered. I’d say he has several broken bones, and given his distress doesn’t appear to be from pain whatever is in his system is likely numbing him to his injuries”_

Sansa knew there was truth in his words, but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach Tyrion’s frightened cries. He was utterly terrified, and the Maesters were happy to ignore it.

“I think this will help”

Sansa turned to see the fourth Maester in the room standing beside her, the ratty blanket in his hands. The man was younger than the other Maesters with only a few links in his chain. He had light brown hair and a well-trimmed beard, his face smiling kindly at Tyrion.

“Here you are lord Tyrion” he said, placing the blanket next to his left side “You missed this didn’t you?”

At the sight of the blanket Tyrion’s cries quieted somewhat, his wide green eyes staring at the filthy rag. The Maester nodded encouragingly and Tyrion’s fingers lightly brushed over it. He looked at them as though he was expecting a trick, and when none came he wound his hand into the blanket – clutching it as if it were a lifeline. A hollow ache rose in Sansa’s chest; she’d tried to hold his hand but he wouldn’t uncurl his fist and her attempts do so had only furthered his distress.

The other Maesters were still examining Tyrion, but some of the terror had eased from his face.

“How did you know to do that?” she asked, glancing at the man beside her

“I’ve seen this before my lady. I once treated a man who fell in battle and was left among the dying for days. He’d found a boot at some point and refused to let go of it – it had been his only comfort”

“You’re saying that filthy rag has been his only comfort all these weeks?”

The man shrugged “I cannot say for certain, but from what I’ve observed it appears to be true”

“He’s safe now” said Sansa “I’ll look after him”

“That is good to hear, but lord Tyrion doesn’t know that and from what I’ve seen will be unlikely to believe it anyway” he said gently “For now that ragged blanket gives him comfort. When he is ready he will give it up, but taking it from him will only further his distress”

Sansa’s heart ached that the blanket brought Tyrion a comfort she’d failed to. The other Maesters had ripped it away from him without a second thought, but the man beside her had seen a different significance in it.

“Lady Stark, treatment can begin if you are ready to leave” said Maester Gallard

Sansa’s head snapped up to see the other two Maesters preparing equipment – one was bringing straps over to the table.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, unease flitting through her

The old man smiled as if to reassure her “From what I’ve seen his right arm is useless to him. The shoulder has been broken and already began setting in the wrong place, so there’s not much to do there”

The man beside her stiffened “We should re-break it and set it properly”

Gallard’s face pulled into a frown “A waste of time. Qyburn’s mutilated his hand – it’s hard to tell exactly what’s been done but it’s clearly been cut open. That arm’s all but useless if his hand’s ruined”

Sansa’s heart thumped painfully in her chest “What else?”

“His ribs are cracked, possibly broken. They can be wrapped and will heal with bed rest. His left leg is the problem. There are a couple of breaks in it and the bones are out of alignment. Based on the scar around his knee, I’d say Qyburn’s been experimenting with the joint – the easiest solution is to take the leg”

“What?” said Sansa, the colour draining from her face

“That’s unnecessary” said the Maester beside her, a frown crossing his face “We can set his leg with splints, no matter what Qyburn’s done to his knee”

Gallard shot him a glare but otherwise ignored his interruption “After that there’s nothing to do for his other injuries than wrap them. The burns on his left arm may need a few stitches. The bruising around his groin doesn’t seem to have caused permanent damage and there’s obviously nothing to be done for the tattoos. If you’re ready to leave we will remove the leg and bandage his wounds. Lord Tyrion will live, though I fear his mind may be lost. I can have him leeched to try and clear his system if you like”

Sansa froze, her mind reeling with information. They were going to take his leg, his right arm was useless. Tyrion was going to be crippled. Through all of the thoughts swirling in her mind, one dominated the rest.

“Tattoos?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper

The old Maester nodded grimly “A barbaric practice, regularly used on slaves in cities like Volantis. It’s often done to fools as well – motley over their faces and such”

She reached out, rubbing her shaking fingers over the image on his chest and hoping with all her heart it would wipe away. Tyrion flinched at the contact, shuddering beneath her.

“Please...no...” he cried, clutching his blanket in his good hand

A lump formed in Sansa’s throat – it wouldn’t come off. Without thinking her eyes swept over his body, picking out the patches of ink she’d glimpsed on him before. Much of it was buried beneath layers of dirt and blood, but Sansa could still read the words. The word ‘imp’ was written neatly down his left ribs, while ‘Kinslayer’ was marked to the left of his lower abdomen. Vomit clawed up Sansa’s throat as the realisation sunk in. Those cruel words would never leave him – the Hand of the Queen badge would always be there to mock him.

 _‘I’m so sorry Tyrion’_ she thought _‘I should have been quicker; you shouldn’t be suffering like this’_

“It shouldn’t take long lady Stark” said Maester Gallard, drawing her attention “When I have finished with lord Tyrion, I am more than happy to help you make sense of the current situation in Kings Landing”

The other two Maesters had begun securing straps around Tyrion, pinning him to the table despite his anguished cries.

Sansa forced herself from the chair, her legs shaking beneath her as rage bubbled in her stomach. The quickest, easiest solution - they didn’t care about healing Tyrion at all. Maester Gallard had taken charge of the other two and it was increasingly clear to Sansa he only wanted to position himself in her good graces. The citadel might choose the Grand Maester but the ruling monarch’s favour would surely go a long way. Treating Tyrion was to appease her and nothing more.

It was when one of the men went to take Tyrion’s blanket she found her voice.

“Stop” she said, the room falling silent “I thank you for your help Maester Gallard and your colleagues, but I will be pursuing different treatment for lord Tyrion”

The old man’s eyes narrowed “My lady, what I say is the truth. It is the only way to treat him”

Sansa turned to the fourth Maester stood beside her “Is it?”

“You can’t mean to take the advice of Henly!” interrupted Gallard, his face pinched in anger “I’ve studied far longer than him; my knowledge would be invaluable to you. Henly focuses only on his own interests”

“I focus on healing” said Maester Henly, fiddling with the silver link in his chain “Maester Gallard is correct, his knowledge far exceeds my own - though I dare say my experience of treating the wounded is greater. His evaluation of lord Tyrion’s injuries is correct but there are other ways to treat him, of that I can assure you”

The weight of responsibility fell heavily over Sansa as she glanced between the men. Was it right that she was making Tyrion’s medical decisions? There was no-one else to do it - nobody else she trusted. The last of his family was Cersei and she’d caused him all this pain in the first place. She moved her gaze to Tyrion’s tear stained face as he shook on the table. The green eyes she knew so well were wide and unfocused, darting around the room like a frightened animal. The other Maesters had backed away from the table at her intervention but they’d already strapped Tyrion’s legs down and placed another across his waist.

A fierce protectiveness reared in Sansa. He’d been betrayed, beaten and broken - but Sansa would never allow him to be mistreated again.

She turned to Maester Henly “How would you treat him?”

“Firstly I’d give him a bath. His injuries are serious, but at the moment he doesn’t seem to feel them - better to try and build some trust with him rather than rushing” said Henly “Aside from that he’s very agitated. Adding the stress of an unnecessary amputation while he’s in such a state will only strain his heart”

“My lady if you are not happy with the treatment I propose I will explore other options, but lord Tyrion has no next of kin - in these situations Maesters usually decide” said Gallard

Sansa’s nostrils flared at the subtle warning. Letting her stay in here was simply to appease her, this man was warning her they had the power in this situation - an assumption she would crush.

“Thank you for your help Maester Gallard” she said, her tone icy “but I believe Maester Henly’s plan is in lord Tyrion's best interests”

“My lady, I mean no offence but you are hardly in a position to make that decision for him. You are not family"

"He's my friend" she said "His family caused this, unless you'd rather seek Cersei's opinion in the black cells?"

"Certainly not" said Gallard, his face paling

The documents in her gown called to her. She could use them if necessary - claim Tyrion as hers. The temptation drifted through her, but ultimately she decided not to. If she revealed their marriage status now the information would spread like wildfire and Sansa still wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. That these Maesters hadn't brought it p, told Sansa they likely didn't know. For now that was the best way. 

She turned to Henly “Will you treat him?”

The man gave a small smile, bowing his head “Certainly my lady”

“I will see you and your colleagues are compensated for your time Maester Gallard” said Sansa, turning away from the three men stood at the end of the table to focus on Tyrion “That will be all”

She was vaguely aware of the three men storming out of the room and Henly removing the restraints from Tyrion, but all she could focus on was Tyrion's tear stained face as she leaned over him.

“I’m sorry Tyrion” she said “I’ll do better - I promise. No-one will ever hurt you again”

Sansa wasn’t sure what compelled her to do it. Whether it was his red-rimmed eyes or the frightened sobs escaping him as he tried to curl into a ball - but somehow she found herself pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Tyrion stilled at the action as Sansa’s stomach lurched wondering if she’d upset him. He looked so lost; she’d only wanted to comfort him.

Wide green eyes stared up at her, and for a moment Sansa saw her Tyrion buried beneath the pain.

“Did you like that?” she asked softly

He didn’t answer, but his eyes were focused on hers now. He wasn’t well, his pupils were huge and he was trembling; but he’d quieted somewhat - watching her warily to see what came next.

“Would you like another one?”

Sansa made sure he could see what she was doing as she lowered her head to his, kissing his forehead this time. He flinched at the contact, but Sansa lingered for a moment before pulling back.

Tears burned at her own eyes as she looked at Tyrion, and the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.

* * *

Cersei grit her teeth, rubbing her arms against the cold of the cell. It had been hours since she was removed from the throne and left to linger in this box like prison. The darkness was oppressive, reminding her of her time as the High Sparrows prisoner. At first she’d tried to order the Lannister guards to defend her.

_“I’m the Queen!” she shouted as she was dragged from the throne “Kill them! Kill them all”_

_“You’re Queen no longer” said Sansa, shaking her head in disgust_

_Cersei turned to the captain of her guards “I’m the lady of Casterly Rock - you are sworn to serve me”_

_“We serve the lord of Casterly Rock, and that is lord Tyrion Lannister” he said, his face twisted in anger “You lied to us; you made us complicit in betraying our rightful lord”_

Sansa Stark had turned the Lannister forces against her. What did it matter if Tyrion had never been formally disinherited? He’d killed their father - he was a monster. Nobody would want to serve an imp.

A smile pulled at Cersei’s face. Surely there were still Lannister guards loyal to her. Threatening would not work when she was in such a weak position, but charm could. All men were led by that the little worm between their legs after all. She pushed up from the grimy floor, moving to the slot of bars embedded in the heavy wooden door. All she needed was a few guards she could charm. The promise of castles, lordship - whatever would persuade them. Cersei forced down her inner lioness, making sure her face reflected vulnerability. Who could refuse a lady in distress?

It was as she peered through the bars of her cell hope died in her chest. There were three guards outside her prison - all wearing the uniform of the Unsullied.

 _‘No’_ she thought, rage spreading through her as she grasped the bars.

Men could be easily led, men could be manipulated - but the Unsullied weren’t like other men. The worm between their legs was long gone and with it Cersei’s hope of escape.

* * *

Why was everything different?

Tyrion’s heart pounded unevenly in his chest as the woman held him still, her long fingers brushing over his forehead as she cradled his head in her lap.

The rules had changed again and no-one had told him how to play. Life in his cell was simple. If he slept he was beaten. If he angered Cersei he was beaten. At least once a day he was brought to Qyburn.

Life was an endless cycle of pain but Tyrion knew how to make things a little easier. Speak only when spoken to, don’t resist and never mention Cersei’s children or Jamie. Something warm ran from his eyes at the thought of Jamie. He was his big brother until the Dragon Queen killed him.

Thoughts and memories swirled through Tyrion’s mind as the woman with the pretty red hair and gentle hands stroked his face. Something niggled at the back of his mind saying he knew this woman but that couldn’t be true. He was an imp; the pretty woman wouldn’t go near an imp.

Somehow things had changed today. The routine had changed and so had the rules. The pain would be here any moment now; it always came. Qyburn wasn’t here though. There was a different man wearing grey robes in the room. Tyrion didn’t trust him. There’d been more like him before – they’d touched him and tied him down like Qyburn. They’d taken his friend away too.

He wound his hand tighter into the blanket – it was all he had left.

Maybe this man wasn’t so bad. He’d given him back his blanket and hadn’t hurt him yet. The woman had been nice to him too; her voice soft and gentle. Not like Cersei.

 _‘It’s a trap’_ urged his mind _‘don’t fall for it. Remember the rules’_

The man in grey pulled a stool up beside him, a needle in his hand. This was it - the pain was starting again. A tremble went through him as he tried to prepare for what came next.

“I’d like to fix your arm for you lord Tyrion” said the man, smiling at him “It looks quite sore”

Was the man confused? He wasn’t a lord - he was an imp. There was no point resisting, they would do what they wanted to him anyway. Tyrion looked away as the man examined the burns at the top of his left arm, his gaze wandering around the room. This wasn’t like his cell or Qyburn’s room - it was so much warmer. Brighter too.

The woman had come with other people and taken him from the cell, but he didn’t know why. The routine had changed and it was terrifying. No-one had really hurt him though. The men in grey had scared him but there was only one left now. When they’d gone the woman and man had put him in a bath.

Nausea rolled through Tyrion recalling the experience - he’d thought they were going to drown him. Father had wanted to do that once; he’d wanted to leave him in the sea and let the waves take him.

They didn’t drown him though. The water had been warm and…nice.

The man in grey lightly grasped his left wrist and Tyrion’s hand tightened around the blanket, but the man only moved his arm to lie across his ribs. A moment later the woman’s hand lay on top of his.

“It’s alright” she said, her blue eyes leaning over him “Maester Henly is going to fix your arm. Just relax, ok? I won’t let anyone hurt you”

The woman’s fingers prised gently at his hand and Tyrion shuddered at the contact. He didn’t want to lose his friend again. The woman’s face turned downwards and she stopped trying to open his hand, leaving hers lying over his instead.

A pulling sensation startled him and he glanced sideways to see the Maester pushing a needle through the ripped flesh on his arm. Tyrion’s breathing grew shallow - why couldn’t he feel very much? His other arm wouldn’t work anymore - what if this one stopped working too?

“Focus on me” said the woman, cupping the side of his face and drawing his gaze to hers

It was too late he’d seen that thing on his chest, illuminated by the light of the room. There it sat; a permanent reminder of all his failures. He’d trusted Daenerys; he’d have died for her - why had she turned on him? Did she just not like him anymore, or did he do something wrong? It was probably both.

“Would you like a new blanket?” asked the woman, catching his attention

There was so much going on. He didn’t like this. Why couldn’t he go back to his cell with his friend? It was cold and smelt bad, but things were simple. This woman was being so nice to him; it had to be a trap. 

“You can keep this one too” added the woman, squeezing the top of his hand “I’ll get you a soft, thick one to keep you warm. Does that sound good?”

That did sound nice. As much as he liked his friend it didn’t keep him very warm and his cell was so very cold.

“I can get you one that’s red and gold - maybe with lions on it?”

Lions. Red. Gold.

“No…please…not a lion” he begged, squirming weakly in her grasp “I’m an imp…not a lion”

The woman’s eyes widened in fear “Ok Tyrion! No lions - I promise. Please relax…”

Red and gold were Lannister colours. They were the colours the guards wore when they beat him. He’d worn them once too, but he was only pretending to be a lion. He was nothing but a monster - he knew that now.

“Don’t worry my lady - this is good progress” whispered the man as Tyrion’s heart slammed against his chest

“I don’t want to upset him” said the woman, her thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand

“I understand but it’s important we know what triggers to avoid. Talking to him is useful - it will show we’re not his enemies”

The pulling continued in his arm sending a dull ache through the limb. It was a few minutes later when the woman spoke again.

“What colour blanket would you like Tyrion?” she asked

Questions were dangerous, he always got the answers wrong and it always hurt.

“Whatever you want” she promised “What’s your favourite colour?”

She wanted an answer. It was worse if he didn’t answer; but what answer did she want?

The woman was so pretty as she leaned over him - he was sure he knew her. Bright red hair framed her delicate face. Something in his chest relaxed as her soft eyes looked at him and Tyrion decided on the honest answer. 

“Blue…” he mumbled, fidgeting with the material in his hand

Surprise flickered across her face before her mouth turned upwards into a smile.

“Alright” she said, leaning forwards to kiss the top of his head “A blue blanket just for you”

Warmth spread through Tyrion from where the woman kissed him and he found himself smiling too. He liked blue. It was safe; it kept him company when he was in his cell. Green eyes, purple eyes - they all betrayed him. Not blue though. Somehow he knew blue eyes wouldn’t hurt him.

* * *

Sansa looked utterly exhausted when Arya went to visit her sister. Unsurprisingly the lady of Winterfell was not in the chambers they’d arranged for her, but in the adjacent room she’d insisted Tyrion be brought to.

“How is he?” asked Arya, eyeing the sleeping Lannister.

The room wasn’t as big as Sansa’s but her sister had been determined to keep him close. The bed was soft and comfortable, and there was light trickling in through the small window at one side. Anything was better than the squalid cell they’d taken him from.

Her sister lifted her red-rimmed eyes “Not good”

Arya’s heart twisted for her sister. It was obvious she loved Tyrion, and Sansa’s love was hard to win. Finding him so badly hurt must have broken her heart. She moved from her place in the doorway to the side of the bed where Sansa sat in a chair. A few pillows cushioned Tyrion’s head and shoulders while several layers of blankets covered him. Her eyes were drawn to his left hand and the dirty, ragged blanket he clutched.

“I cleaned some of it while he was sleeping” said Sansa, following her gaze “Maester Henly said it’s important we let him keep it until he gives it up himself”

Arya scrunched her nose “It’s full of holes”

“I know. It needs burning really, but Tyrion’s attached to it and he’s not himself at the moment” said Sansa, brushing her hand over his

Most of the ragged material was trapped under the mattress leaving just enough lying on the bed for Tyrion to hold.

“We didn’t want him to try and cover himself with it” said Sansa, as if reading her mind “it’s far too dirty so we left it there for him to hold if he wants”

While Arya didn’t necessarily understand Sansa’s attachment to Tyrion, she knew when her sister loved she did so with all her heart. Ever since they left Winterfell all those years ago Sansa had suffered. They all had, but Sansa’s naive innocence had been mercilessly crushed. Her soft heart was hidden behind a wall of ice now and only a select few were permitted behind the wall. Arya had been fairly neutral on Tyrion Lannister. His family were responsible for the deaths of hers, but he hadn’t personally been involved. When they’d heard Daenerys and Tyrion were coming to Winterfell Arya had offered to kill the little Lannister. She knew Sansa had once been forced to marry him; Arya was happy to take revenge.

_“Don’t you dare” warned Sansa, her blue eyes flashing dangerously “You will treat lord Tyrion with respect”_

_“Why? You were forced to marry him Sansa – you don’t owe him anything” said Arya “I know how much you looked forward to your wedding day when we were younger, and they married you to the imp. I can get rid of him for you. Both your husbands will be gone”_

_“You don’t know what it was like in Kings Landing! Tyrion was forced into the marriage too and unlike everyone else in that hellhole he never hurt me. He saved me from Joffrey. He wouldn’t consummate our marriage unless I wanted to”_

_“Being better that Joffrey is hardly an endorsement” said Arya_

_Sansa turned away “I trust him – treat him with the respect he showed me”_

The conversation had been the first indication of Sansa’s feelings, and Arya had spied on them together at Winterfell often enough to know he’d wormed his way into her heart. Whenever they were together Sansa smiled a little more, laughed more freely and her eyes sparked with a long absent warmth.

“It was too quick” said Sansa, drawing Arya’s attention

“What was?”

“Daenerys death. What she did to him...” said Sansa, tears welling in her eyes “she got rid of him because of me”

“Oh, Sansa...”

“It’s true” said Sansa “All the time we spent together at Winterfell. Gods Arya, he proposed Northern independence to her because of me”

“You don’t know that”

“Yes I do. She was a jealous woman, the thought that Tyrion’s loyalty wasn’t completely hers...”

Sansa trailed off, tears spilling down her face as she adjusted the blankets over Tyrion. He didn’t look right without his beard and his hair sheared down to patchy stubble. A frown covered his face even as he slept. It was as Sansa adjusted the covers she noticed his shoulder.

“What happened to his shoulder?” asked Arya, moving closer to the bed “Why hasn’t it been fixed?”

Sansa paused her movements, glancing at Tyrion’s sleeping face before pulling the sheets down to his waist. Arya sucked in a breath at the mess that met her gaze.

“Seven hells...” she muttered

“Maester Henly says his right shoulder is broken and has started to heal in the wrong place” said Sansa, biting her lip “We don’t know what’s in his system and he’s so confused at the moment...Maester Henly is going to re-break it and set it properly in the next couple of days. Obviously Tyrion will need to be sedated for that but the Maester wants to give his body a chance to recover a bit first”

Arya nodded, moving her eyes over the damage. Bandages were wound around his torso but Arya could still see new and old bruises covering his exposed skin.

“His ribs are cracked, with at least two broken” listed Sansa “there was a pattern of burns on his left arm that needed sewing up. The cut above his eye needed a few stitches too. He’s far too thin, and seems afraid to sleep - we ended up giving him some kind of herbal drink to get him to rest”

“What’s that?” asked Arya, spotting a patch of what looked like ink hiding beneath the blankets.

Sansa eased the sheets down a little more to show her, though her hands shook as she did. Arya’s mouth went dry as she read the word ‘Kinslayer’ written neatly across the left side of his lower abdomen.

“They...they gave him tattoos” said Sansa, her voice breaking “I thought it was just ink, that it would wipe off...it won’t come off Arya”

“Where else?” asked Arya, clenching her jaw

Sansa brushed her hand over the bandages on Tyrion’s ribs.

“It says ‘Imp’ there” she said, moving her hand to the top of his chest above his heart “here there’s an image… the Hand of the Queen badge...Daenerys betrayed him and they put that on him forever. He was so proud of it when he came to Winterfell. There’s one on the back of his shoulder too – it says little monster”

“I’m sorry” said Arya, and she meant it. She should have intervened with Daenerys earlier. All she could do now was try and support Sansa.

The lady of Winterfell, wiped at her eyes “I don’t know much about tattoos. Only when that fool came to Winterfell, with the moon and stars across his face”

“It’s more common in Essos” said Arya “I heard they do it to slaves in some cities”

“Tyrion’s not a slave – he’s a lord” insisted Sansa, pulling the covers over him once more

“Did the Maester say he’d recover?”

Sansa shook her head “He thinks Tyrion will heal in time but some of his injuries won’t. Maester Henly set his broken leg, but he thinks Qyburn’s done something to his knee. All of the Maesters think his right hand is ruined. There’s a scar across the palm of his hand...and it won’t move anymore”

Arya nodded, gripping her sister’s shoulder “Daenerys might have died quickly - Cersei and Qyburn don’t have to” 

* * *

It was the following day when representatives of all the great houses were fully assembled in the Dragon Pit. Sansa sat along from Bran, Arya and Jon while representatives of the other houses were spread around the area. Lord Royce had taken up position with Robin Arryn and a couple of other lords from the Vale. Her uncle Edmure Tully had arrived earlier that day and sat over to their left. The new Dornish Prince was in attendance as was Yara Greyjoy, Samwell Tarly, Brienne of Tarth and Ser Davos Seaworth. Gendry had come as lord of Storm’s End. Daenerys may have made the decision to legitimise him, but there were so few great houses left and his resemblance to Robert Baratheon was impossible to ignore - no-one was going to dispute his seat. 

Lord Glover and a few of the other Northerners had joined them, but it was the Starks they would follow. As Varys stood in the centre of the Dragon Pit to begin the meeting Sansa’s mind drifted to Tyrion in the Red Keep. She hadn’t wanted to leave him, but this meeting was impossible to avoid. The sooner the throne was decided the sooner she could make plans to return home. Tyrion had slept for a while but to Sansa’s dismay been just as confused when he woke up. Maester Henly said it could take days or possibly weeks for him to regain some normalcy. It was impossible to tell where Qyburn’s experiments on him ended and the trauma began.

He’d looked so afraid when she left him. Missandei had offered to sit with him while she came here and Sansa had reluctantly left Tyrion with her and Maester Henly. Pod and Grey Worm were guarding his room as were several Lannister guards.

A bitter taste filled her mouth as her eyes moved to the lords and ladies of the Westerlands filling a row of seats to her right. Tyrion was Warden of the West - these people had no reason to be here, yet they’d come on mass.

“My lords and ladies” started Varys “this meeting takes place to decide the future of Westeros, and who will sit the Iron Throne. Cersei’s reign has ended and Daenerys Targaryen is dead”

Jon flinched beside her at the words, a frown pulling at his mouth.

“It should be lord Tyrion!” bellowed an older man - a rooster sigil on his tunic “Cersei was the last to sit the throne - he’s her heir!”

“We’ve had enough of Lannister’s on the throne” retorted lord Royce

“Lord Tyrion is not well, and I daresay in no fit state to sit the Iron Throne” said Varys “nor do I believe he would want to”

“Why should we take your word Eunuch?” said the man

“Take my word then” said Sansa, narrowing her eyes “I fear I don’t recall seeing you in the allied forces that removed Cersei Lannister from power. Nor was there any attempt from the Westerlands to rescue your rightful liege lord from captivity. Lord Tyrion is not well enough to rule, unless you're proposing we take him from his sick bed and prop him up on the throne?”

The man floundered for a moment, before promptly closing his mouth.

“It was the Starks that removed Cersei” said Ser Davos, glancing sideways at them “Maybe they should decide”

“I’d support Jon as King” said Gendry “he led the Long Night after all”

“I heard he killed Daenreys Targaryen” snapped Yara “He’s a Queenslayer and a bastard”

“He rode a dragon” added another

Jon sat forwards “Enough! I will not be King. I swore my life to the Nights Watch and it’s time I got back to that”

“You’re exiling yourself?” asked Varys

“I am” said Jon, sitting back in his chair “It was Sansa that led this rebellion. I supported Daenerys, but in the end she went mad - you all heard how she betrayed Tyrion. Sansa defeated Cersei”

All eyes turned to her and sweat trickled down the back of Sansa’s neck. She could claim the throne - it was within her grasp. That wasn’t why she’d come to Kings Landing. She’d came for her family, and made a promise to the North.

“I will not claim the Iron Throne” she said “whoever rules will be agreed on by all of us present”

“You defeat the Queen yet do not want the rewards?” asked the Dornish Prince

“I want an independent North and I will not leave here until I get it”

Varys bowed his head in acknowledgment but Sansa didn’t miss the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He’d wanted her or Jon to rule, but neither of them wanted it.

There were several failed bids for the throne, including one by Edmure before Samwell Tarly made a suggestion.

“What about Bran?” he asked “The Starks won the throne and he’s the three-eyed raven. Bran is the world’s memory”

More than a few lords looked unnerved by Bran and the strange powers they’d heard rumours of. Yet Bran turned out to be the perfect candidate. A Stark King could unite a divided Westeros, and the fact he couldn’t father children meant the next ruler would again be chosen by a council of Westeros.

“Do you accept?” asked Varys

Bran shifted in his wheelchair between her and Arya “Why do you think I came all this way?”

Sansa turned to Bran, grasping his arm “You’ll be a great King little brother, but the North needs to be independent”

Thousand year old eyes stared into hers, the hint of a smile pulling at his face “Agreed”

“All hail Bran the Broken, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm” said Varys, the other lords and ladies echoing the call

Sansa smiled, some of the tension easing out of her. The North was independent and her brother ruled in Kings Landing. With that decision made she could turn her attention to other matters. Tyrion had a long road to recovery, and those who abused him needed to face justice. Sansa clenched her hands into fists - Cersei would suffer for what she had done.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

It wasn’t right – Tyrion shouldn’t look so small.

Sansa brushed her fingers over his hand that clutched the ragged blanket, hoping the gesture might settle him. It did nothing; and the way he jolted at the slightest contact stirred too many unpleasant feelings in her.

Tyrion had never seemed small, despite his size. Where he lacked in height, his sharp mind had more than made up for it. When they’d married in Kings Landing she’d paid little attention to Tyrion’s wit and charm, but it was something she’d come to appreciate in Winterfell. With only a few words he could turn the tables in a debate or cut through someone’s lies. He was brave, loyal and somehow his smile made Winterfell seem warmer. There was so much more to Tyrion than his size.

Her throat tightened as Tyrion squirmed in the bed once more.

They’d taken everything from him.

Daenerys betrayal and his sister’s cruelty had stripped away everything that made him Tyrion, leaving behind a broken shell of the man Sansa had come to know. The prolonged imprisonment had wasted him away to nothing with his injuries rendering him helpless. As Sansa moved from her chair to sit on the side of the bed she thought Tyrion looked almost childlike lying beneath the blankets - small and vulnerable. His green eyes were wide and filled with fear as he tried to curl into a ball, igniting a wave of protectiveness in Sansa.

Her feelings for Tyrion were complicated to say the least; locked away deep in her heart where they couldn’t escape. Seeing what had happened to Tyrion was enough to break through her defences however, dislodging far too many feelings to process. As much as she hated seeing Tyrion confused, his current state offered one advantage - she could care for him without needing to make sense of her own feelings. There was no fear that giving Tyrion her comfort would be awkward or complicate their friendship as he wasn’t lucid enough to understand who she was. The Tyrion she knew would hate being so helpless, or being spoken to like a child. It was only temporary, she reminded herself. Tyrion would heal from this. He was more than strong enough - he just needed a little help right now. 

“Are you uncomfortable?” she asked softly

Tyrion had stopped squirming when she moved to the bed, though he’d began to shake again; as if fearing some kind of punishment. She bit back a sigh, brushing the back of her fingers against his cheek. Sansa had hoped he would be more himself after they’d seen to his injuries and he’d had a good sleep. Unfortunately he’d been no better when he woke. Leaving him with Missandei while she went to the Dragon Pit meeting that morning had been unexpectedly difficulty, and it was a difficulty Sansa blamed firmly on the Maesters who’d seen to Tyrion yesterday. If she’d left him alone with them as they’d wanted, she’d have returned to find his leg gone and the bare minimum done for the rest of his injuries.

She pressed her mouth into a firm line, hardening her resolve. Tyrion was the lord of Casterly Rock and he was her friend - she wouldn’t allow anyone to treat him poorly. Maester Henly was the best choice to care for him, of that she had no doubt. Unlike the other Maesters he seemed to have no interest in winning her favour and his ideas for treatment would give Tyrion the best chance of recovering. Doubt gnawed at Sansa once again - should she be making his medical decisions? Tyrion couldn’t decide for himself right now and there was nobody else she trusted to act in his best interests. When he was well enough she’d tell him everything, and hope he understood she’d done her best for him. 

“Can I get you anything?” she asked

Tyrion said nothing, but the fear radiating from him was increasingly difficult to stomach.

“I won’t hurt you Tyrion. You know that, don’t you?”

Still he didn’t reply, but Sansa noticed his left hand tightening around the blanket. Tyrion didn’t seem to like questions - he acted as if they were a trap. After Henly had dealt with his injuries yesterday they’d moved Tyrion to the room beside her own, and spent the rest of the day trying to get him settled. It wasn’t easy - Sansa wanted to help him but wasn’t sure how. Tyrion didn’t seem to recognise her, nor had he recognised Missandei when she sat with him this morning. Maester Henly seemed confident the confusion would pass in time, and had encouraged her to keep talking to him even if he didn’t answer.

_“It’s important we make him feel safe and cared for. Sitting and talking with him will hopefully show we are friends and not enemies, though I fear it will be a slow process” said Maester Henly “Lord Tyrion’s confusion likely has many causes, but it’s clear enough Qyburn’s experimented on him and he’s been given far too little food and water”_

_“What can we do?” she asked, her gaze flitting between Tyrion’s sleeping face and the Maester_

_“Proper food and water is the priority, though we’ll have to start gradually. Soups and broth only for the next couple of weeks” said Henly “Whatever is in his system will likely take a few days to clear, and appears to be numbing him to the pain of his injuries”_

_“That’s one good thing”_

_Henly shook his head “I fear not my lady, rather the opposite in fact. It may be a small mercy he’s spared the pain of his injuries, but the pain would keep him still and give us a better indication of where he’s hurt. There is only so much I can find through an examination, particularly around his chest and ribs. Given how agitated he is and without being aware of his own pain he’s likely to hurt himself if we cannot get him to rest”_

The conversation drifted through Sansa’s mind as she watched Tyrion shuffling on the bed. They’d tried to get him to rest yesterday but he just wouldn’t relax and they’d ended up giving him a herbal drink to help him sleep. The Maester had secured Tyrion’s broken leg in a wooden frame and encased it in bandages that went from his toes to just below his left knee, but every time Tyrion squirmed he tried to move his leg - as if not understanding it was broken and had to be kept still. They’d set a cushion underneath it this morning in the hopes it would stop him moving, but Tyrion still wouldn’t settle. Her eyes wandered to the bandages wrapped around his ribs, before drifting to his shoulder. The unnatural way his shoulder hung made her stomach churn, but fixing that couldn’t happen until Tyrion had improved a little. 

Sansa forced a smile, lightening her tone “You look better than yesterday. I know Missandei was glad to see you this morning”

In truth Missandei had been guilt-ridden to see what had happened to Tyrion, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I think she’d like to visit you again. Would you like that?”

Fearful green eyes studied her own, searching for the trick in her words.

Sansa swallowed thickly “I’ve not forgotten your blanket either. I want to get you a really nice one – it’ll be blue just like you want”

It wasn’t right. Tyrion shouldn’t look so afraid or small or weak.

 _‘Cersei will suffer for this’_ she thought – a dark anger closing around her heart.

Bran was King of the Six Kingdoms, but if the jubilant Northerners were to be believed Sansa would be crowned Queen in the North upon her return to Winterfell. Cersei and Qyburn were her prisoners and death wouldn’t be quick for them as it was for Daenerys. The Northerners were keen to return home but there was much to do in Kings Landing first. An agreement between the two separate Kingdoms would be made and Cersei Lannister would face justice for her crimes. As much as the Northerners wanted independence, Sansa knew the real work would begin now and the responsibility of the North loomed over her like a heavy chain. There were few people she trusted, and the one whose advice she wanted the most was unable to help her.

Sansa cupped the side of Tyrion’s face, drawing his anxious gaze to hers “I’ve got a lot to organise before we can leave, but I want you to know you’re my priority. No matter what I’ll make sure you get the best care; no-one will hurt you ever again. I don’t know if you want my help or not – but you’re my friend and I’ll take care of you Tyrion. All you need to do is rest and heal”

Lost green eyes stared into her own, filled with a pain that had no right to be there “Sansa?”

Her heart stopped as Tyrion whispered her name. It was a question – looking at his face she realised he didn’t really know who she was. Most likely he’d heard Missandei or the Maester say it earlier on. That was fine; it was a step in the right direction – that’s all that mattered.

“That’s right Tyrion” she said, smiling at him as tears threatened the corner of her eyes “I’ve missed you so much”

* * *

“Did you know you’d be King?”

Bran tilted his head to one side, considering his sister’s question.

“I knew I had to be here” he said eventually “it’s where the three-eyed raven is supposed to be”

Arya nodded, lounging in the chair across from him. She appeared totally relaxed in what was now the King’s chambers, but Bran was under no illusions – a weapon would be in her hand at a moment’s notice if needed.

“You’re King of the Six Kingdoms, Sansa will be Queen in the North and Jon was King in the North and the true heir to the Iron Throne” said Arya, shaking her head in disbelief “Hard to keep track of who’s got a crown now”

“Did you want one? If you’d put yourself forward in the Dragon Pit many would have supported the girl who killed the Night King”

Arya scrunched her nose in distaste “Keep your crowns. I’m no-one”

Bran smiled, shifting in his wheelchair “Kings Landing will take time to recover but it could’ve been much worse”

“Daenerys would’ve burned everything to the ground with her dragon”

“That was a very real possibility, but the chance of that happening diminished significantly when she betrayed Tyrion Lannister”

“Why?”

“You know why”

Arya sighed “It brought Sansa south”

Bran’s mouth turned downwards “Tyrion’s suffering saved many more lives than just Missandei, though he paid a high price”

“He shouldn’t have agreed to the trade in the first place. For a supposedly clever man he’s made some stupid choices”

“Haven’t we all?” mused Bran, raising an eyebrow at his sister “His family and most of Westeros turned on him. Was it wrong of him to think he’d found a home with Daenerys? Tyrion made many mistakes but I’d say he’s suffered more than enough for them”

Arya’s face darkened “I saw him last night when I went to see Sansa. It was bad Bran. It’s one thing for an enemy to hurt you, but his sister did that to him”

“What you saw is only half the story” he warned

“What’s the other half?”

“I see many things – too much in truth. Cersei Lannister will be put on trial for her crimes, and what I see through the raven’s eyes will not be evidence enough”

“There’s already more than enough evidence to kill Cersei”

“There is” he agreed “Do you think Sansa wants to kill her or punish her?”

Arya’s grey eyes rose to meet his gaze “Sansa was crying last night”

“She loves Tyrion”

“Not that she’ll admit it” muttered Arya

Bran’s mouth twitched upwards “I’m hardly an expert, but Sansa suffered her own monsters. Facing the truth will be difficult for her”

She rolled her eyes “Everyone but Sansa knows it”

“Sansa isn’t ready to face that truth” said Bran, lacing his hands in his lap “but she’s quite devoted to Tyrion”

“Gods know why”

Bran smiled thinly “There’s enough evidence to take Cersei’s head”

“but Sansa wants her to suffer” said Arya

“I need you to find something for me” said Bran “I have a rough idea where it is but I lack the legs to look properly”

“Fine” she agreed “What is it?”

“Enough evidence to find Cersei guilty of every sin” said Bran “and a way to help Tyrion”

* * *

Sansa adjusted Tyrion as he lay against her; propping his head against her shoulder so Missandei could continue her work.

“That’s better” said Missandei, carefully scraping the knife down the side of Tyrion’s head

“Thank you for helping with this” said Sansa

“It’s no problem. Anything I can do to help, please let me know”

Sansa nodded, her heart twisting as little pieces of golden hair fell from Tyrion. Evening up his hair was the right thing to do. There was so little they could do for him - Sansa wanted to restore a tiny piece of his dignity. Unfortunately Tyrion’s hair had been left as uneven bristle, with a few longer patches of hair mixed between patches of almost nothing. Making it even would leave his head almost bare, but at least he’d look less like a victim and it could grow back evenly.

She’d wanted to find a shift or something for him to wear but Henly had voided the idea. At the moment Tyrion needed help to do everything. Putting clothes on him would only make it difficult to examine, feed and wash him – not to mention help him use the chamber pot. It was a small mercy he was confused at the moment; his nakedness didn’t seem to bother him as it surely would if he was well. Nevertheless Sansa made sure he was covered up unless necessary. Prior to letting Missandei into the room she’d wrapped a blanket around Tyrion’s waist to give him some privacy before easing him upright.

Sansa laid her head against his as Missandei cut away his hair. He would hate being so helpless, but there was nothing to be done about it. She could give him some dignity back at least - treat him like the lord he is, rather than the beaten creature they’d reduced him too.

“I’m pleased you got what you wanted” said Missandei “Having seen the North and now Kings Landing I’m quite surprised how different they are”

“Kings Landing is a strange place” said Sansa “I never thought I’d be here again – I never wanted to be”

“You had bad experiences here?”

“It was the beginning of the end for my family. I was a stupid little girl; I couldn’t wait to come here”

Missandei nodded in sympathy “What we want as children is rarely as we imagine it”

“What did you want?”

“To be free from slavery. To go home to Naath”

“Is that what you’ll do next?”

“Perhaps” said Missandei “Grey Worm and I haven’t decided anything yet”

“What’s Naath like?”

Conversation flowed easily between them, with Missandei telling Sansa about Essos and its cities and Sansa answering questions about Westeros. She almost forgot Tyrion was in her arms until he stirred against her. Instantly she cupped the back of his head, pressing him closer and hoping he’d stay asleep for a few more hours.

“Shh, I’m here” she soothed “you’re ok”

Tyrion didn’t wake, but nuzzled contentedly against her shoulder before stilling once more. Heat rushed through Sansa, burning up her face as she realised two things. The first being how automatically she’d comforted him and the second was how right it felt to have him so close. As soon as the thought crossed her mind she pushed it away. No. She couldn’t go there. Not now; maybe not ever. If that box was ever truly opened there would be no way to contain it.

She lifted her eyes to Missandei’s face, finding the smallest smile waiting for her.

“He didn’t sleep well last night” tried Sansa “it’s better he gets some rest”

MIssandei’s smile widened, though she didn’t reject the lame excuse “Of course. He looked exhausted when I saw him yesterday. I told him to sleep if he wanted, but he seemed determined to stay awake”

“He’s terrified” said Sansa “Maester Henly sat with him last night but Tyrion wouldn’t sleep. He kept falling asleep and then waking up in a panic, no matter how many times I promised he was safe”

“Did you get any sleep?” asked Missandei

Too late Sansa realised she’d confessed to spending the night at his bedside again. She and the Maester were in agreement Tyrion shouldn’t be left alone and Henly had sat with him all night so she could rest, but it had proven impossible. How could she sleep knowing Tyrion was hurt and scared in the room next door?

“I got enough” said Sansa

Missandei lay her hand on her arm “You don’t have to do this alone. I owe Tyrion my life – I’ll help as much as you’ll allow me to. Grey Worm can sit with him too. We’re his friends; we want to help him”

Like yesterday, Missandei had come to sit with Tyrion while Sansa dealt with the politics of Kings Landing. The Dragon Pit meeting had decided the throne and Northern independence but there were countless other issues to be dealt with before she could return home, not least the fate of Cersei Lannister. Despite Sansa’s initial reservations towards Missandei the other woman seemed utterly sincere in her desire to help Tyrion. Daenerys’ betrayal of Tyrion and his subsequent treatment at Cersei’s hands wasn’t Missandei’s fault, but that hadn’t eased the guilt in her eyes.

“Thank you” said Sansa “I don’t trust the Lannister guards and I don’t want to leave him with just the Maester, but I can’t sit with him all day either”

“You don’t need to worry - he’s safe with us” promised Missandei, brushing some of the stray hairs from his head “What do you think?”

Sansa eased Tyrion back from her shoulder to get a better look. It was closely cropped; leaving only a fine fuzz of golden hair covering his head. It didn’t suit him at all - Sansa missed his wild, curly hair - but it was better than how he’d been left. It looked as if it had been his choice rather than a humiliating punishment.

“Much better, thank you” said Sansa, her throat tightening as the image of Tyrion as he left Winterfell drifted through her mind

“It’ll grow back” offered Missandei

She was right. In time his hair would return and some of his injuries would fade. Yet the tattoos would never leave him, and it was too early to know if his injuries would leave him crippled. Physically he would recover with time and care.

As Sansa lowered him back to the bed, already missing his warmth against her, she wondered if her Tyrion would return in time too.

* * *

Death hung heavily in the room as Arya moved further into the chambers that had belonged to Qyburn. It coated every surface in the area, hinting at the dark acts these walls had seen. Her eyes drifted over the table set in the centre of the room and the straps hanging loosely to each side of it, before moving to the shelves stacked with jars of various liquids. It was set up no differently than most Maesters rooms - neat, ordered and filled with herbs and tools.

Unlike most Maesters rooms there was a sinister edge lurking beneath the otherwise mundane set up. The leather straps on the table were the first hint of Qyburn’s true nature, but even then they were hardly uncommon. Arya wandered further in, her grey eyes sweeping over the room. Evidence was in here that would seal the downfall of Cersei Lannister and Qyburn. There was already more than enough to take their heads, but Bran wanted to have every possible piece of evidence she could uncover. He’d told her one specific thing to retrieve, but asked her to see what else she could find.

_“I see much through the raven’s eyes, finding specifics is more difficult” he said “A point in time is easy - but where an object is located isn’t as simple”_

Bran made little sense these days, but Arya trusted him. If he thought it was important she searched these rooms then she would. Much of the contents was standard; a collection of poisons and remedies. Various knives and tools for treating the sick. It was when Arya got closer to the rows of shelves she first noticed something was amiss. A number of the liquids were labelled as modified versions of various poisons. She lifted one called ‘Modified Strangler’ and swirled the deep red contents of the jar. It was a different shade than it was supposed to be, and Arya wondered just how it had been modified.

She continued searching the shelves, finding everything neatly labelled and organised with the methodical nature of a Maester. It was quickly becoming obvious Qyburn had been experimenting with many things, and made no effort to hide it. Arya’s mind drifted to what she’d heard of the Mountain. From what Brienne had told her he had been turned into some kind of mindless servant; unable to think or feel pain properly. Whatever Qyburn’s work was Cersei had clearly approved it. Everything was in plain sight, as if he was a normal Maester doing research rather than a failed Maester expelled from the Citadel. 

It was when Arya reached a shelf behind Qyburn’s desk that her blood ran cold. Six jars sat along the wooden shelf – each with a neatly written label that made no effort to disguise the contents. The first contained a human tooth floating in liquid, while the second was half filled with blood. Another contained several pieces of skin suspended in a liquid, while the one beside it held pieces of tissue and muscle. A piece of bone floated in the next to last jar, while the final one was mostly empty aside from a layer of dried white coating the bottom.

Arya’s hands shook, anger spreading through her. The contents of these jars was vile – such things might be found at the Citadel for learning purposes, but hardly had a place in a supposed Maester’s rooms. The presence of the jars alone was enough to raise questions over how Qyburn acquired such samples.

It would be, if the man hadn’t meticulously labelled the contents of each one and named its origin. Arya grimaced, lifting the jar labelled as ‘Seed samples of Tyrion Lannister’ and placing it in her bag. Sansa was upset enough over Tyrion’s condition without knowing the grisly details, but there was no way to keep this from her. Bran had sent her down here to find evidence and search for a black book Qyburn kept. Her brother wouldn’t tell her much about the book other than it was important, but as Arya loaded the jars into her bag she didn’t need to think hard on what the book contained. Qyburn was a meticulous man, and based on the set up of the room it was obvious his research had royal approval – he hadn’t feared getting caught. Bran had said if she found the book it could help Tyrion and Arya now understand how. She had little doubt it contained the details of the hell Tyrion had suffered. The knowledge could help the Maesters treat him, but Arya knew it would break her sister’s heart too.

Arya straightened up, securing the bag containing the jars around her as she moved to search for the book. For whatever reason Sansa was attached to Tyrion and Arya would make sure justice was done for him – whatever his flaws he didn’t deserve the cruelty she’d glimpsed in this room.

* * *

“Lady Stark, how fares lord Tyrion?”

Sansa turned at the older man’s voice, coming face to face with the captain of the Lannister guards. Godwin was dressed in the typical Lannister uniform but without the helmet. It had been years, but still the sight of Lannister guards made her stomach churn.

“Poorly I fear. He’s badly hurt and quite confused at the moment”

“Will he recover?”

“In time” said Sansa, hoping her words were true

He fell into step beside her as she continued down the corridor towards the meeting that would begin the process of Northern independence.

“My Lady, I realise you have your own trusted guards, but my men and I serve lord Lannister – we are more than capable of guarding his room”

Sansa hummed, pretending to consider his words. There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d trust the Lannisters to protect Tyrion. A couple had joined Pod and Grey Worm the other day, but it was obvious many of the Lannister guards found the presence of her own guards insulting.

“I don’t doubt you can guard his room, but my concern is making Tyrion comfortable. I mentioned getting something with his sigil for him the other day and he panicked”

Godwin winced “I understand the situation is fragile to say the least. My concern is the lords and ladies of the Westerlands”

“What about them?”

“My men have heard mutterings. Some of the lords are concerned they cannot see lord Tyrion”

Sansa came to a halt, pursing her lips “Why would they need to see lord Tyrion? He’s not well enough to see anyone at the moment”

It occurred to Sansa the man was rather uncomfortable delivering the news. He wouldn’t meet her gaze as he spoke “My lady, lord Tyrion is Warden of the West and as of yesterday the North is independent. I dare say some are questioning your intentions towards him”

“My intentions towards him” she repeated, narrowing her eyes “I want Tyrion to get better, and I won’t let anybody hurt him again – those are my intentions towards him”

“I more than understand my lady” said Godwin, inclining his head “You’ve done everything to aid our lord while we were used against him”

“If any of these lords wish to question my intentions towards Tyrion they are more than welcome to take it up with me, though I’d say their intentions are the most in need of scrutiny”

“Certainly my lady” he agreed “there isn’t a doubt in my mind you act only in lord Tyrion’s best interest. I sought only to warn you. It appears many of the lords and ladies of Westeros will remain in Kings Landing for the next week or so – all keen to gain the King’s favour”

Sansa wavered for a moment. As much as she distrusted the Lannister guards, they were sworn to serve Tyrion. Brienne, Grey Worm and Pod rotated standing outside his door but that couldn’t carry on indefinitely. From what Arya had told her a couple of the guards had cheerfully beaten Tyrion while he was in his cell, while another two had tried to help him. Then there was the Lannister captain. He’d respected her orders to keep away from Tyrion, and warned her of a potential issue. She didn’t believe he was a threat to Tyrion, but that wasn’t to say other guards might not be.

“If your men were to guard Tyrion’s room there would need to be certain conditions” she said eventually

Godwin straightened up “Such as?”

“No-one is to enter his room other than me or his Maester – unless I’ve approved them. Tyrion isn’t himself at the moment; the sight of Lannister guards will terrify him” said Sansa “I want to believe all of your men are loyal to Tyrion, but I don’t. Only those you trust are to guard his room"

“Understandable” he said, shifting uncomfortably “I fear a number of the men did enjoy following Cersei’s orders, but identifying them will be near impossible. Men who turn on their comrades don’t last long in armies, regardless of what their comrades were doing”

Sansa’s stomach lurched at the warning. The idea of anyone who hurt Tyrion going free made her feel sick but Sansa was well aware it wasn’t her place to discipline the Lannister army either.

“Perhaps when Tyrion is well enough he’ll be able to identify them” she said

“Lord Tyrion would be within his rights to take all our heads” said Godwin “Lord Tywin’s heir was never really decided. It was no secret he wanted Ser Jamie but he was sworn to the Kingsguard. Lord Tyrion was obviously the next in line but his father never treated him as such and after Tywin’s death the matter was never cleared up. In the end we followed Ser Jamie, who followed the Queen”

“Now you follow Tyrion – despite him killing his father?”

Godwin’s face was tired as he met her gaze “My lady, Cersei Lannister is a monster and Tywin Lannister was utterly ruthless. If lord Tyrion’s worst crime is killing his father I’ll sleep better at night. The things Cersei did...my honour is long lost, but I will serve lord Tyrion faithfully”

* * *

Tyrion shifted on the bed, wincing at the ache in his chest. He didn’t know what had happened but when he woke up his body felt heavier – a dull ache seemed to lay over him that wasn’t there before. His left leg hurt too. It was strange; he hadn’t really felt it earlier.

“Try and stay still” encouraged the woman “you need to rest”

He glanced sideways at the woman sat beside the bed. She had dark, bushy hair and kept telling him unfunny jokes about speaking different languages. It was strange; everything was strange right now. Somehow he hadn’t been brought back to his cell yet. He hadn’t seen Qyburn or Cersei either. A shudder went through Tyrion as the image of their cold eyes drifted through his mind. Anytime now they’d be here. This was all a trap; it had to be.

Tyrion wound his fingers into his friend, relishing the familiar roughness against his skin. He couldn’t relax or rest. As soon as he closed his eyes the pain would come. The woman sat with him hadn’t hurt him though. She sat talking to him and smiling.

As nice as she was being Tyrion missed the other woman – the one they called Sansa. When she was here things were a little better. He wasn’t sure why but he didn’t think she’d hurt him. Tyrion had heard this woman and the man in grey call her Sansa, and he’d whispered the name to her yesterday. It was a stupid risk – he should have been punished for it. Imps don’t speak unless necessary; those were the rules. Tyrion’s heartbeat picked up in his chest. He shouldn’t break the rules. Who knew what he’d lose this time. His right arm wouldn’t move at all anymore – what if they stopped the other one working too? He wouldn’t be able to hold his friend.

“Tyrion, are you ok?”

He drew in a ragged breath, his hand trembling. Where was Sansa? He didn’t like being here, with people watching him all day. Why couldn’t he go back to his cell? Things were simple there; he was alone and forgotten – things were easier that way.

 _‘Sansa left you’_ taunted his mind _‘just like Daenerys’_

Instantly the memory flashed before him. Silver hair and lilac eyes that didn’t hint at the betrayal to come.

_“You’ll come for me?” he asked, searching the face of his Queen_

_Daenerys smiled “Of course. I promise”_

The memory of her kiss against his cheek filled him with revulsion. She hadn’t come for him – she left him to die, left him to Cersei. Tyrion’s stomach twisted as he squirmed on the bed. He was missing something. Every time his mind seemed to get close to whatever truth was hiding it veered away, leaving him more confused than ever. Why didn’t things make sense anymore? Heat pricked at his eyes, as he turned his face away from the woman. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t asked for any of this – he hadn’t asked to be born.

“Oh Tyrion, you’ll be ok” said the woman, laying her hand on his arm. He flinched at the contact, but she didn’t let go “Is there anything I can do for you?”

 _‘Kill me’_ he thought, trying to move from the bed.

He didn’t belong here – he wanted to go back to his cell and hide. A cracking noise filled the air as he summoned enough strength to raise his chest from the bed. The woman gave a panicked squeak at the sound, and Tyrion’s brow furrowed as he continued moving upwards. A dull ache pierced his side as he moved, but it seemed so distant Tyrion wasn’t sure whether it was real or not.

“Tyrion, please stay still. You’ll hurt yourself” said the woman, leaning over him. Her dark eyes were wide and worried in a way that made no sense to Tyrion. She needn’t have told him to stay still - Tyrion had only made it half way to sitting up before a wave of dizziness swept through him. He dropped back onto the bed, whimpering at his own weakness as the woman hastily tucked the blankets around him.

“Sansa?” he whispered, something wet spilling from his eyes.

Maybe things would make sense if she was here. Why would she be here though? He was an imp, and she was so pretty. He shouldn’t ask – it was breaking the rules, but he had to know.

A smile flitted across the woman’s face “She’ll be back soon, don’t worry. I’ll stay with you until then Tyrion – we’re friends, aren’t we? Please, just relax. Sansa is coming”

He nodded slightly, fiddling with his friend. There was no point trying to escape; he was too weak. If they were going to punish him it was easier not to resist.

“We’ll have fun until then” promised the woman, offering him a smile “Have you heard the story of the translator who couldn’t find the privvy?”

She launched into the story but Tyrion couldn’t focus. Everywhere he looked there were lilac eyes and green eyes waiting to hurt him. They hung in every shadow of the room, watching and waiting to strike.

* * *

Sansa allowed herself a smile as she made her way through the Red Keep. The meeting with the few Northern lords present in Kings Landing had been nerve wracking to say the least, but things had ended up being far simpler than she could have imagined.

_“Northern independence” said lord Glover, a wide smile crossing his face “I never thought I’d see it”_

_A few of the minor Northern lords nodded their agreement, their eyes studying the document Sansa had presented to them as if it were made of gold. It had taken a few hours to go through in detail, but if it was accepted a deal for Northern independence could be approved within days._

_“Are there any amendments?” asked Sansa_

_“None I can see” said lord Cerwyn_

_Lord Glover nodded his agreement “Aye, I see no issues at all with this”_

_Another minor lord leaned forwards in his chair “Shall we have the Maesters write a fresh copy, your Grace?”_

_Sansa flushed “I’m not your Queen. Who rules the North isn’t yet decided”_

_“The only Queen I know, is the Queen in the North whose name is Stark” said lord Glover, banging his hand on the table as the rest of the assembled Northerners echoed the sentiment_

_“You’re too kind my lords” said Sansa “I hope I’m worthy of the trust you place in me”_

_“You’re the Queen who won us freedom” said the minor lord “If we’re in agreement it’s best the Maesters begin their work”_

_“Thank you, my lords – but a fresh copy will not be necessary. This agreement was written by lord Tyrion Lannister and proposed to Daenerys Targaryen. It is his work and I will not take credit for it. Lord Tyrion has signed the document and there is ample space for our own names to join his”_

The proposed arrangements in Tyrion’s document were in no need of modifying, and had saved what could have been weeks or possibly months of discussion and planning. A few of the lords would have undoubtedly preferred it be rewritten and Tyrion’s name removed but Sansa wouldn’t allow that. It was Tyrion’s work and she wouldn’t pretend otherwise. None of the lords had questioned her decision and why would they? The Lannister name might have commanded power once but those days were gone. The Northerners were too drunk on victory to care about her friendship with Tyrion. She didn’t doubt there were some who hated Tyrion and would continue to do so no matter what he did, but she suspected more pitied him. Family loyalty was held sacred in the North, and the rumours of what Cersei had done to her brother were enough to disgust many Northerners into sympathy with Tyrion. The enemy of their enemy wasn’t necessarily a threat after all.

Sansa wound her way through the corridors towards Tyrion’s room. There wasn’t much else to be done today. Summaries of the agreement would be written and sent to lord Manderly and the remaining Northern lords ahead of the arrangement being formally signed in a few days’ time. Bran was putting together his own council and they would be the next to go over the arrangement, leaving her time to focus on helping Tyrion. He’d been asleep when she left him with Missandei, but had likely woken up since then.

It was just as she rounded the last corner to where her and Tyrion’s rooms were she caught sight of the group standing in the corridor. Podrick was on guard duty, and stood with his hand resting on his sword, but it was the sight of Arya, Jon and Maester Henly that caught her attention.

Jon’s face was set in a deep frown that made the breath catch in Sansa’s throat as she quickened her steps to join them.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes darting between the group “Is Tyrion ok?”

“He’s fine” said Jon “as fine as he can be anyway”

“Missandei’s still sat with him m’lady” added Podrick, offering her a small smile

“We need to speak to you” said Arya

“Can it wait? I want to check on Tyrion”

“You need to hear this first” said Arya, crossing her arms “Bran’s waiting upstairs”

Sansa took a step back, searching their faces. There was something wrong; she could see it hiding in their eyes.

“I want to see Tyrion” she said, pursing her lips “Why are you all here?”

Arya rolled her eyes “Seven hells. We’re stood here because you need to hear what we have to say and I knew you’d go straight to the imp when your meeting was over”

“Don’t call him that” snapped Sansa

“Enough” said Jon, moving in front of Arya to get Sansa’s attention “Sansa, we have something that could help Tyrion. Bran sent Arya to find it and I really think you need to see it. We came here to get you and his Maester”

“What is it?” asked Sansa

Jon rubbed a hand over his face “I can’t...just trust me. You both need to see this”

Sansa’s stomach lurched uncomfortably at Jon’s expression. Whatever it was had been enough to sicken him, that much was obvious.

Maester Henly moved forwards “My lady, I’ve not long ago checked lord Tyrion. The lady Missandei summoned me to check on him after she heard a crack. Apparently he grew quite distressed all of a sudden and tried to sit upright; further damaging his ribs. Fortunately he doesn’t seem to feel it but I fear a cracked rib may have broken. I examined him and bandaged his chest again but we may need to explore other ways of keeping him still”

Sansa nodded, her throat tightening. Henly had warned her they may need to restrain Tyrion if he wouldn’t rest. They were trying to clear his system so giving him sleeping draughts wasn’t really an option and the more Tyrion squirmed the more likely he was to hurt himself. She hated the thought of restraining him but it was for his own good. The Maester told her when they fixed his shoulder it would be imperative he lie still unless they moved him.

“Why wasn’t I told?” she asked “If Tyrion was distressed I could have helped him”

Henly opened his mouth to speak, but Arya cut across him “Why would you be told? Missandei’s his friend too – how many _friends_ does he need to hold his hand?”

Sansa’s nostrils flared as she met her sister’s gaze. Arya was deliberately provoking her; jabbing at the walls that surrounded her deepest feelings and hoping something would break free. No. There was too much going on at present to go there. Whatever lay buried in her heart would stay buried for now – and no needling from Arya would free it.

Jon shook his head reproachfully at Arya, reminding Sansa sharply of their father “That’s enough. We all want to help Tyrion”

“My lady, both I and Missandei know you wish to be kept appraised of lord Tyrion’s condition. I was on my way to inform you when lady Arya and lord Jon pulled me aside” said the Maester

“It’s just Jon” said her brother, who was in truth her cousin “I’m no lord”

“As you wish” said Henly, offering Sansa a smile “I can assure you lord Tyrion’s quite alright now. He looked tired when I left him and Missandei was telling him stories of Naath I believe – with any luck he will fall asleep without intervention”

Sansa forced her face into a neutral mask “Very well. Shall we see Bran then?”

“Check on Tyrion first if it’ll make you feel better” offered Jon “Bran can wait a few minutes”

She wanted to; more than anything she wanted to see Tyrion with her own eyes and make sure he was comfortable. The image of him crying and shaking in terror when they rescued him constantly lingered in her mind. One look at Arya’s smirking face hardened her resolve however. Going to Tyrion now would only be evidence to Arya, and it was evidence of something Sansa wasn’t ready to admit.

“No, it’s quite alright” said Sansa “let’s see Bran”

* * *

Jon had often heard his father remark that war was easier than daughters, and Jon thought the sentiment could be equally applied to sisters. Arya and Sansa hadn’t gotten along as children, but when they reunited at Winterfell he’d naively thought they’d moved past that. Apparently not. Despite the many ways his sisters had changed over the years there was still a clash of personalities between them. Arya didn’t seem able to understand why Sansa wouldn’t come clean about her feelings for Tyrion, but provoking her was hardly going to help matters. At least when they made it to Bran, Arya’s mood had sobered. It was one thing to mock Sansa for the way she acted around Tyrion, but the six jars set on a table before Bran were hardly a laughing matter.

Bran had been waiting for them in a solar just off his chambers where Arya and Jon had last seen him. The new King had asked Jon to join him earlier and he’d been there when Arya returned with the jars and a small black book. Bile clawed up Jon’s throat as he looked at the jars once more. Bran’s face had darkened upon seeing the vile contents of the jars, before asking him and Arya to find Sansa and the Maester who was treating Tyrion.

“This can’t be right” said Sansa, wrapping her arms around herself as she sat at the table. She’d taken a few minutes to look at the jars; refusing to believe the contents could be true.

“These were in Qyburn’s room near the black cells” said Arya

“It’s true” said Bran, his mouth a grim line “I’ve seen pieces of what happened to Tyrion – the contents of these jars all came from him”

Sansa had turned as white as a sheet, eyeing the jars with revulsion “How...why do this to him?”

“Revenge” said Bran “That was Cersei’s reason anyway. Qyburn was curious; he’d never had the chance to experiment on a dwarf before”

Jon sighed, moving forwards to lay a hand on Sansa’s shoulder “There will be justice for this, I promise”

“No justice can make this right” said Sansa, venom in her tone

“Indeed” said Maester Henly, lifting the jar that contained a piece of bone “Qyburn is an evil man, make no mistake. He may come across unassuming and interested in healing, but it’s merely a guise for his cruelty”

“You know him well?” asked Arya

“No, but I’ve met other Maesters who were at the Citadel when he was” said Henly, his face twisting in disgust “There isn’t an ounce of humanity in him. Qyburn’s experiments are abhorrent – and brought great shame to the Citadel”

“Why wasn’t he executed?” asked Arya

“That I do not know, but he should have been” said Henly, placing the jar back on the table and moving to the next

“Why did you show us this?” asked Sansa, her voice small

Bran straightened in his wheelchair “To help. This is all evidence against Cersei and Qyburn. They’re your prisoners Sansa and you will decide their fates, but I thought it important you had everything at your disposal. The book is evidence as well, but I thought you might use it to treat Tyrion”

Sansa reached for the book, her hand shaking as she brushed her fingers over the black cover.

“You don’t need to read that” said Jon softly

“Have you all read it?” she asked

Jon and Arya shook their heads as Bran nodded.

“I did” he said, a frown covering his face “the book is yours to use how you see fit”

There was some kind of hidden meaning there, but what it was Jon didn’t know. Bran had told him and Arya the book was Qyburn’s journal and it contained details of what had been done to Tyrion – that was more than enough incentive for Jon not to read it.

While he hadn’t been at Dragonstone when Daenerys decided to make the exchange, Jon had failed repeatedly to convince her to rescue Tyrion and this was the result. Even worse, he hadn’t been to see Tyrion yet. Arya had told him how bad it was, but Jon had hung back from visiting the Lannister dwarf whether he was awake or asleep. Seeing him would force Jon to confront the truth of Daenerys; a woman he’d loved, who’d taunted Sansa with the knowledge Tyrion was suffering horrendously. 

Bran and Arya were both conversing with the Maester and examining the jars in a detail Jon couldn’t stomach. He’d seen many terrible things; he’d seen the dead rise – but he’d never seen a cruelty quite like that contained in the jars. The idea of someone taking away pieces of you to keep on a shelf...it didn’t bear thinking about. Instead Jon returned his attention to Sansa, seeing his sister had opened the book. Her hands trembled as she read.

“Sansa, it’ll be alright” tried Jon “Tyrion’s hard to keep down – he’ll get through this”

“I’ll kill them” whispered Sansa, her voice as hard as ice “I swear to all the Gods I’ll kill them all”

* * *

Sansa staggered down the corridor like a drunkard; her stomach churning as if she might be sick for the fourth time. Every part of her was numb.

_‘...Preliminary samples of blood and skin taken from the subject following complete physical exam. A tooth was extracted for closer analysis and a sample of seed was taken...’_

Someone greeted Sansa on her way past but her mind barely registered it. She paused at the top of the staircase, a tremor going through her.

_‘...Further tattoos added to subject at Queen’s request. Pain of process clearly registers, but shame appears to be key factor in his distress, and is magnified by his sister’s presence and taunts...’_

Sansa sucked in several shallow breaths, praying her legs would continue to hold her until she reached her destination.

_‘...Subject was given potion to relax body and restrained, but was not sedated during dissection of his dominant right hand. Some differences in bone length and surrounding tissue were noted but no real difference in structure compared to a normal person. Removal of a small bone and the cutting of several nerves was carried out with the Queen’s permission, effectively rendering the hand useless...’_

One step at a time. Move, and take a breath. It was the only way to get down the stairs without falling.

_‘...Mental state of subject deteriorating rapidly. Guards beat him throughout the night at Cersei’s command and he is brought to me during the day for further research. Several modified potions have been tested on him with varying results – a few appeared to cause hallucinations. The Queen wishes him to be castrated but I have convinced her to wait as it may prove his breaking point. If the Queen wishes to prolong his punishment it is better to pace things accordingly....’_

Sansa’s hand trailed along the wall as she lurched away from the stairs and up the corridor. Just a little further and she’d be there.

_‘...future studies should examine the impact of humiliation on the physical body. I was able to observe this effect while applying another tattoo to the subject. After a brief exchange between the Queen and her brother she chose an unexpected way to humiliate him. The subject had become somewhat unresponsive over the few days preceding the first incident, but the Queen’s manipulation of his genitals caused severe distress. Queen Cersei has repeated the actions several times since, and each time evokes a similar response. Further seed samples have been obtained but the Queen’s only interest in touching him in this manner is pain and humiliation rather than academic enquiry...’_

Bile burned its way up Sansa’s throat as she thrust her head towards a window; opening it just in time for the vomit to spill from her.

_‘...the Queen’s patience with my methods is wearing thin. She wants the subject to suffer but she wants him to last as long as possible. My methods will keep him alive for months - possibly years, but Cersei hasn’t the patience for that. Several bones and lacerations have occurred from the guards repeated beatings; the worst of which is his right shoulder; broken in two places and left untreated per the Queen’s orders. It is saddening to see such an interesting specimen being used so brutally when there is so much left to research. Nevertheless the Queen is happy for my experiments to continue. An exploratory dissection of his knee will take place today in preparation for more invasive experimentation. Would it be possible to remove the knee joint and replace it with something better – something stronger....’_

Podrick’s eyes widened as Sansa arrived at the door. If her outward appearance reflected her soul she wasn’t surprised by Pod’s reaction. Had the light been pulled from her eyes? Was her face hollow and sunken? Sansa was a Stark; she could wear a mask of stoicism as well as the rest of her family – but no wall of ice could survive what she’d seen in those jars; or read in Qyburn’s neat, clinical writing.

Wisely, Pod made no comment on her appearance and stood aside to let her pass. That was good. Sansa feared opening her mouth to speak would unleash a sob that wouldn’t end. It had been so tempting to find a blade and go to the black cells; the wolf could kill the lion.

A greater need had called to her though. It whispered from behind the creaking walls guarding her heart, urging her to come here instead. She fumbled with the handle, until at last the door opened.

Tyrion’s face was etched with exhaustion as he lay beneath a pile of blankets – his left hand clutching the ragged blanket he favoured like a lifeline. Missandei still sat beside him, turning to Sansa when the door creaked open.

“Lady Sansa...” she started, her brow furrowing “Are you alright?”

Sansa ignored her, focusing only on the man shuffling nervously on the bed.

The man who’d been degraded, tortured and molested by his own sister.

He’d lifted his head as the door opened, and bright green eyes now peered anxiously at her.

“Sansa?” he asked, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth

The sight warmed Sansa from head to toe, chasing some of the numbness from her. There would be time to deal with everything else, but right now her priority was in front of her. No matter what she’d make sure Tyrion recovered from this horror. Cersei and Qyburn had tried to break him, and she wouldn’t let them win. Tyrion was strong. She’d get him all the help he needed and he would come through this.

Sansa smiled reassuringly as she stepped further into the room “I’m here Tyrion; you’ll be ok – I promise”

* * *

“I just don’t get it” muttered Arya, staring moodily across Kings Landing. The balcony branched out of the Red Keep offering a good view of the sprawling city below

“You don’t need to get it” said Gendry, leaning on the railing

Arya huffed, glancing sideways at her old friend “Yes, I do. Sansa marched halfway across the country for him, won’t leave his bedside for more than a few hours and expects us to believe they’re just friends?”

“Maybe she’s not ready for everyone to know”

“They already know, it’s bloody obvious unless you’re Sansa”

Gendry shook his head, a smirk covering his face “You don’t get it do you?”

“Get what?”

“Come on Arry – why could your sister possibly be nervous to admit how she feels about Tyrion Lannister?”

“You’re starting to irritate me” said Arya, narrowing her eyes

“Maybe she’s worried her family don’t approve” he ventured

An unpleasant feeling rose in Arya’s chest. Sansa had told them her marriage to Tyrion hadn’t been annulled; both Bran and Jon had made it clear whatever she did with that was up to her. Arya had thought her sister’s stubborn insistence Tyrion was only her friend was simply denial, but could it be she was worried what they thought of him?

“I was at Winterfell too. I saw you stalking them around the castle, and glaring at Tyrion every chance you got” added Gendry – completely unhelpfully

“Shut up” she snapped, turning back to the expanse of Kings Landing

Perhaps there was a little truth there. Her hatred of Lannisters was well known, and she might have glared at Tyrion on occasion. While Arya soon realised he posed no threat to Sansa, that didn’t mean she hadn’t made sure he knew his place at Winterfell. She hadn’t done anything wrong though. Tyrion had been serving Daenerys at the time, and he’d never reacted to her glares anyway; she’d only been warning him - if he hurt Sansa there would be consequences.

“It still makes no sense” said Arya “if Sansa loves him she should be honest about it and damn the consequences. She’ll be Queen in the North when we go home. Nobody is going to care who warms her bed”

“It’s not that easy Arry. Tyrion aint himself right now, is he?”

Arya’s stomach stirred as she shook her head “No...they tortured him for weeks”

He nodded, his eyes turning distant “Can you imagine the person you love being hurt so badly they’re not the same? If you ask me Sansa’s protecting herself. Maybe when Tyrion gets better she’ll be as blunt as you”

“No-one’s asking you, and Sansa could never be blunt about things like that – she’s too much of a lady”

“You could try and be nice to her” said Gendry, shrugging his broad shoulders “She might love Tyrion, but that doesn’t mean he’ll return it; not after the hell he’s been through. It’s a risk putting your heart out there”

Arya hated many things. She hated those jars and what they meant. She hated Cersei and Qyburn with a burning passion. Most of all she hated that Gendry might be right. Trying to provoke Sansa into a confession might not have been the best idea, but she couldn’t stand her sister denying the obvious either.

“Valar morghulis” she said, straightening up “All men must die. If you don’t say what you mean you might not get the chance”

“So you should say it and damn the consequences?”

Arya turned wordlessly away, a smirk stretching across her face.

“Where are you going?” called Gendry as she disappeared back into the castle, adding a moment later “Try and be nice!”

Sansa hadn’t looked at all well when Arya had last seen her, but her sister had stubbornly insisted on reading Qyburn’s journal. As soon as she finished reading it Sansa had handed it to the Maester and lurched from the room. Both she and Jon had wanted to follow and check on her but Bran had insisted they give her some space. Following Sansa’s departure Arya and Jon had taken their own leave. Between the jars containing various pieces of Tyrion and the journal detailing how it was all done they’d both had enough. Bran and Maester Henly had remained, with the Maester absorbed in the journal when they left. Arya hadn’t expected her sister to read it. When she found it Arya hadn’t opened it. Bran had described the book in perfect detail and the grisly contents of the jars had sickened her without the need to read Qyburn’s notes. Jon had been just as wary of reading it; claiming there was more than enough to haunt his sleep.

The guards had changed at some point and Brienne now stood in Podrick’s position outside Tyrion’s door.

“Lady Arya” greeted the knight

“I’ll assume Sansa’s in there”

“She is” said Brienne, her brow furrowing “I saw her earlier when she sent for some soup – I must say she didn’t look well”

A pang of guilt swept through Arya. As annoying as she often found Sansa, her sister was under tremendous pressure. The North was independent because of her, and the responsibility for its success had fallen immediately onto her shoulders. No-one had expected Sansa to take care of Tyrion after he was rescued – most would have left him to the Maesters – but she’d immediately claimed responsibility for his care. Jon had warned Arya to leave Sansa be, and Gendry had suggested much the same.

“Is she unwell?” asked Brienne, glancing at the door behind her “I’ve not heard anything for a while”

“I’ll check on her” said Arya “I’m sure she’s fine”

Arya eased the door open, poking her head around first to see what was going on. The last thing she wanted to do was startle Tyrion when he was in such a fearful state. It quickly became apparent why Brienne had heard nothing for a while – both Sansa and Tyrion were fast asleep.

Stepping further into the room, Arya crept closer to the bed where Tyrion lay tucked beneath a pile of blankets. His left hand still clutched the rag they’d found him with in the dungeon, but his face looked marginally more relaxed than when Arya had seen him last. Her eyes trailed over her sister, whose head was lying on the edge of the bed as she slumped forwards in the chair. Exhaustion and worry was etched into every line of her sister’s face, as she covered Tyrion’s left hand with her own.

Arya stared at the scene, before whispering softly “You win”

She wouldn’t bother Sansa about Tyrion again; it really wasn’t her place to dictate when Sansa confronted her own feelings – she just didn’t want her sister to get hurt. Sansa wouldn’t face the truth, but Tyrion’s confusion had given her a safe outlet for her suppressed feelings to run wild. If Tyrion was awake and fully aware Arya knew her sister would play the role of a prim and proper lady; her feelings would be buried even deeper than before. Arya hadn’t meant to add to her sister’s burden, she’d only thought if Sansa faced the hard truth now it would be easier to face it when Tyrion was well.

Arya turned her gaze to Tyrion, noting the few stitches above his eye and the fading bruises around his face. The blankets hid much of the damage, but Arya knew it was there. There was certainly a time when Arya might have killed anyone with the name Lannister, but experience had taught her things were not as black and white as her father had made them out to be. The world was made up of shades of grey, and Arya inhabited it just as easily as Tyrion did. They’d both done terrible things, but they’d both done good things to. No matter what Tyrion had done or been in the past, there was something in him that had won Sansa’s heart – that alone was enough to give him a chance.

She leaned over the bed, staring down at the sleeping Lannister “You need to get better – Sansa’s waiting for you”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Brief reminder I don't own the characters or anything really - only the story I've written about them.

**Chapter 9**

Tyrion’s heart pounded as he relinquished his hold on the blanket, his eyes moving to the long red hair spilling across the side of the bed. Would Sansa mind if he touched it? He’d admired it for days, and now it was right next to him - it looked so soft. He squirmed on the bed, tilting onto his side enough to get a better view. Everything ached today, and Tyrion couldn’t figure out why. Nobody had hurt him for a few days now - Sansa promised him last night he was safe and she would protect him. A tingle spread through his chest at the memory. Sansa had seemed sad when she came to see him last night, but she’d treated him so kindly - as if he was a person rather than an imp. That was foolish of course. Tyrion could never forget what he was; it was written all over him so everyone else knew too.

_‘You were the best of them’_

The strange words drifted through Tyrion’s mind; drawing him towards a place steeped in darkness. That was Sansa’s voice, he was sure of it. The words made no sense – the best of what? His brow furrowed as he tried to latch onto the words, but they drifted away too quickly for him to examine. There had been a time before the cell, of that he was certain. The problem was remembering it. Certain things would come to him - the woman with silver hair and lilac eyes who’d betrayed him. The details were fuzzy, but he’d trusted her and then he ended up here.

_‘Daenerys’_

A tremor went through him as soon as her name slipped through his mind and he latched onto his blanket once more; winding his fingers into the rough material. He couldn’t go there. Sometimes he wanted to remember who he was before the cell; remember who he was before the pain. It was locked away deep in his mind, and little pieces escaped now and then - but whenever Tyrion thought about getting closer the darkness overwhelmed him. He wouldn’t like what he found if he went there; he was certain of that.

Tyrion forced the thoughts from his mind, returning his attention to Sansa sleeping beside him. She’d pleaded with him to rest last night, and sat stroking his face until he fell asleep. It hadn’t been easy to rest, or to enjoy Sansa’s attention – part of him still feared a trap. He’d been so tired, and his body ached more every day, but experience had taught him bad things could happen when he slept. How many times had he been woken up by boots thudding into him, or a fist colliding with his face? Then there were his dreams - they didn’t bear thinking about. Still, he’d wanted to try for Sansa; she made all his fears seem smaller, and there was something in her eyes that promised safety.

To his delight he’d woken to find Sansa slumped forwards in her chair - her head resting on top of her arm which was next to him on the bed. Her bright red hair fanned out around her delicate face and it was so very tempting to touch it. 

Once again Tyrion released his blanket; hovering his hand nervously over the soft looking strands. He was an imp - he shouldn’t touch the hair of such a beautiful woman. What if Sansa woke up? His heart constricted. What if she punished him, or worse, left him? Sansa promised she wouldn’t hurt him - she told him she was his friend.

Tyrion glanced between the red hair and his tattered blanket. He’d learned early on his blanket was his only friend - the only thing he could trust. Was it possible that an imp, a kinslayer, a little monster, could have another friend?

* * *

“I wish Sansa hadn’t read than journal” said Jon, poking at the food on his plate “Some things are better left a secret”

“I can’t disagree with that” said Arya, somehow finding an appetite as she shoveled food into her mouth.

Jon pushed the plate away from him, unable to stomach any more breakfast. Despite his best efforts the jars Bran had shown them yesterday refused to leave his mind. Just thinking about them made his stomach churn.

“I don’t know that Tyrion will like everyone seeing those jars” said Jon “There’s no need to use them at trial – everybody knows Cersei and Qyburn are guilty of terrible things. Taking their heads won’t be a problem”

Arya carried on eating, saying between mouthfuls “Sansa will want them to suffer”

“Death will be enough” said Jon, shaking his head “Sansa will want justice, and she’ll get it”

“She will” agreed Arya “but don’t be surprised when you and Sansa have different ideas of justice”

“There’s nothing to be gained from a drawn out death”

“There’s justice. You should see Tyrion for yourself before you judge”

Jon’s stomach twisted uneasily at the thought. Hearing what had befallen Tyrion was more than enough without seeing the damage in person. At the same time Jon had no real reason to avoid him. He’d come to see Tyrion as a friend long ago, and to Sansa he was so much more. 

“Have you spoken to him?” asked Jon

Arya shook her head “He was asleep both times I’ve been in there”

Jon rubbed at his face, letting out a breath “I should see him - there’s no reason to hide”

“He won’t recognise you anyway”

“That’s not the point” said Jon “When I spoke to Jamie at Dragonstone he asked me to rescue Tyrion”

“Sansa rescued him” said Arya, dropping her knife and fork to the plate “Cersei would have made the exchange you know. She hadn’t hurt Tyrion too badly before then. It was when Daenerys killed Jamie she lost control”

Jon’s throat tightened at the thought of the woman he’d loved - the one he’d killed. It had been the right choice. The loss of her dragons, Ser Jorah and many of her followers had changed her into somebody unrecognisable. That she grew more paranoid each day had been a problem in itself, but betraying Tyrion had been unforgiveable.

_“Tyrion believed in her” said Jon, narrowing his eyes at Jamie Lannister_

_“Ah, yes. My poor little brother. He’d do anything for acceptance – you should understand that bastard”_

Unfortunately Jon did understand it. He’d seen first-hand how proud Tyrion was to stand beside Daenerys and serve as hand of the Queen. It had given him acceptance in a way being lord Commander had given it to Jon. Allister Thorne and more of his Nights Watch brothers had soon seen to that; much in the same way Daenerys had stripped it from Tyrion.

Did Tyrion even know his brother was dead? Jon’s mouth turned downwards - it was entirely possible Tyrion would be the last Lannister by the time he regained some sense of awareness. Cersei and Qyburn would face the consequences of their actions sooner rather than later.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Arya

“That Tyrion’s going to need help. That Sansa shouldn’t have to do everything alone”

Arya snorted “It took you staring at your plate all morning to think of that?”

“I’m not the one provoking Sansa”

“Neither am I” said Arya, leaning back in her chair “I’ve decided to let her hold onto her denial”

“Arya…”

“It’ll come out sooner or later anyway”

“What about Tyrion? Is he safe from your list?”

“He was never really on it. Since Sansa’s gone to so much trouble to keep him alive I’ve decided to give him a chance”

Jon smiled, shaking his head “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled”

* * *

However long Sansa had been asleep she was certain it wasn’t quite long enough. Nevertheless, the ache in her back was difficult to ignore as she reluctantly opened her eyes. She blinked wearily as the brightness of the room invaded her dark world, and her position began to make sense. She’d been sat with Tyrion last night and her head was currently pillowed on her right arm, which was lying on the edge of the bed near his shoulder.

Sansa inwardly cursed. She’d meant to stay awake and watch over him - not fall asleep on the edge of his bed. He was so nervous around people; had she made him uncomfortable? Before she could move an unusual sensation caught her attention; almost as if there was something in her hair. Sansa cautiously tilted her head, stilling as she realised two things. Firstly that Tyrion was awake, and secondly that he was playing with her hair.

The hand that had refused to relinquish its hold on the ragged blanket for days was now running through the ends of her long hair, as Tyrion’s fingers fiddled with each strand. Careful not to move her head too much, she flicked her eyes to Tyrion’s face and the innocent smile he wore. He was lying in bed, but was tilting onto his left side with his right arm hanging uselessly at his other side.

Sansa swallowed thickly, taking a moment to savour the wonder that lit up his green eyes. He looked perfectly content but she couldn’t let him stay in that position. Just yesterday he’d broken another rib by moving too much and Sansa didn’t need to be a Maester to know his current angle was putting pressure on his damaged chest. The blankets and sheets hid his lower half but there was every chance he was twisting his broken leg too. Henly was right – they’d need to find a way to restrain him. That Tyrion didn’t seem to feel his injuries had at first seemed like a mercy, but Sansa had quickly learned it was a curse when coupled with his confused state. She drew in a deep breath, bracing for the many ways Tyrion could react to her waking.

“Good morning” she said softly, lifting her head from her arm

At once Tyrion froze; her red hair clasped between his fingers. Sansa winced at the panic rapidly building in his face – she’d thought this reaction the most likely.

“Sorry” he whispered, dropping the hair as if it was on fire “sorry, sorry...”

“It’s ok” she told him quickly “you’ve done nothing wrong”

Tyrion’s hand scrambled to grasp the tattered blanket as he squirmed in the bed. He tilted away from her and onto his back once more, but Sansa didn’t miss the grinding of bones that accompanied the movement – or the discomfort that flashed across his face. Her own bones creaked as she straightened from her slumped position, quickly moving from the chair to sit on the side of the bed.

She gazed down at Tyrion, brushing her hand down the side of his face to try and calm him “Shh, please stay still. You’re ok – it’s all ok”

His eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape “Sorry...please...”

“I won’t hurt you Tyrion” she said, quickly pulling her hair over one shoulder and leaning down to offer it to him “Here, you can touch it if you like – I don’t mind”

A tremble went through him as he looked at the offered hair. It took Sansa a moment to realise he was expecting a trick, and her heart twisted at the thought. She forced her mouth into a smile, bending forwards to kiss his forehead. He flinched at the contact, but Sansa lingered until she felt him relax a little. She pulled back, pleased to see some of the fear had fled from his face, though he still looked wary.

“Sorry” he repeated, his voice quiet and unsure

It was horrible seeing him like this. Whatever fear or insecurities Tyrion had he’d always hidden them behind a shield of wit and confidence. He’d fought in the Battle of Blackwater, fought the dead in the crypts - he’d stood up to Joffrey when no-one else would have dared.

Yet now he couldn’t meet her eyes as he trembled on the bed; as if anticipating a punishment. Telling Tyrion he was safe wouldn’t suffice – it was something he would need to accept himself. The only way to convince him was through their actions.

Still...they couldn’t wait to win his trust. Henly had mentioned it yesterday and the way she’d heard Tyrion’s bones grinding as he moved confirmed the unfortunate truth – they’d have to restrain him. Knowing the grim details of Tyrion’s suffering made it so much worse but there was simply no other choice. The biggest threat to Tyrion was himself and Sansa had promised to protect him; even if it broke her heart.

She turned her focus back to Tyrion lying in the bed. His left hand was curled around the strip of ratty blanket they’d left him to hold onto and his face was etched with worry.

“How are you this morning?” she asked, smiling at him. She had no idea why Tyrion had wanted to touch her hair, but it seemed better to move on than ask questions.

Tyrion hesitated before saying softly “Ok...”

“That’s good” she said “You don’t look as tired as yesterday”

On she went, asking Tyrion the occasional question in-between general small talk. He rarely answered; even if it was a direct question – but Sansa could see he listened to every word she said. Little by little the tension eased out of him, until he was as relaxed as he could possibly be given the circumstances. Sansa had tried to take his hand as she talked, hoping he would relinquish the blanket in favour of her, but he tensed at the slightest sign he would be separated from the filthy rag.

It hurt not being able to comfort him as she would like, but yesterday had given her a glimpse at the trauma that surely lay beneath his frightened face. If Tyrion wasn’t ready for her comfort she wouldn’t push him, but she left her hand covering his anyway – a sign she was there if he needed her.

The morning light was growing brighter and Sansa knew the Maester would be on his way soon, and it wouldn’t be long before she needed to turn her mind towards Northern business. Already the prospect of leaving Tyrion made her heart pick up pace in her chest. How could she leave him, even for a few hours, knowing all that he’d suffered?

Sansa swallowed thickly, running her finger over the side of Tyrion’s prickly hair. Still he was squirming on the bed; oblivious to how he was hurting himself. It was now or never to try this. If it didn’t work she’d have to consent to Henly restraining him. It was the last thing either she or the Maester wanted to do but Sansa could no longer deny it was necessary. She’d tried to relax Tyrion as much as possible, but there was no way of knowing how he’d react to her plan.

“Tyrion, I really want to help you” she said, drawing his attention “You need to rest to get better and I have an idea that might make you more comfortable”

 _‘And safe’_ she thought

“Will you let me try?” she asked

As confused as Tyrion was, his mind was still sharp enough to understand her words meant something was changing. He bit his lip at her pleading gaze, fidgeting uncomfortably beneath the blankets. Sansa had no idea what decided for him, but she was more than grateful when his head nodded forwards.

Sansa’s mouth turned upwards as relief flooded through her “Thank you. You don’t need to worry about anything – just try to relax for me”

* * *

Cersei shivered against the cold of the cell, rubbing her hands down her arms as her face twisted into a scowl. She was the Queen – this was no place for her.

Very little had changed in the few days since she’d been taken prisoner, and there was no word of Qyburn. Presumably he was either dead or in another cell. Each time she looked outside her cell there were Unsullied guards and not a single Lannister who may be sympathetic to her cause.

Time had lost much of it’s meaning to Cersei but there was a routine to the Black Cells. Twice a day some slop masquerading as food was brought into her, and the bucket for her waste was emptied every other day. Nobody had come to see her, and her few attempts to speak with the Unsullied guards were met with silence. They either didn’t speak the common tongue or were deaf to her pleas.

The former Queen’s face tightened as she huddled in the corner of her bed. Removing their cocks must have removed their bloody brains. Nobody else could be so cold to a beautiful woman in need. Annoyance flared within her – the imp would have been made a eunuch too if Qyburn hadn’t thought it would break him too quickly. That was a thought; what had become of her little brother? Sansa had sounded as if she meant to rescue him, but that didn’t make sense. She was forced to marry the little monster – surely she’d rather see him dead? Cersei’s brow furrowed in confusion. It was more than a little strange.

Cersei’s body had quickly adapted to the routine of the prison and when the lock clicked open she knew it wasn’t time for food. She moved shakily to her feet, holding her head high – if this was death she would face it as a true lion.

To her surprise it wasn’t the unsullied who came into the cell, but two Lannister guards. The first was an older man with greying hair and a grim expression. The second hovered behind him, his face young and filled with delight at seeing the Queen in the dungeon. Cersei smiled thinly, pretending to not notice the Unsullied guards hovering outside the cell door with their spears raised. There was no chance these men were here to rescue her.

“Gentleman, it is so good to see friendly faces after spending so long alone” she said, sweeping her gaze over the men

The older one narrowed his eyes, grunting “There’s to be a trial in three days time. We’re here to collect the names of any witnesses who may testify for you”

Cersei ducked her head, forcing her face into one of contrition “I see Queen Sansa will be doing things by the book – that is good”

“She’s not the Queen” snorted the younger one “her brother Bran is King”

The information hit Cersei like an arrow, sending her mind into a spiral of different possibilities. Bran – the boy Jamie pushed from the window. Cersei had heard he was crippled, and heard rumours of his strange abilities. How had he become King?

“I see” she said, glancing past the old guard to the younger one “Curious. When she led her armies against me I assumed it was so she could rule”

“The North’s independent-“ started the younger guard

“Enough” snapped the older man “Godwin sent us to gather the names of any witnesses the prisoner wanted – not to gossip with the enemy”

“Enemy?” she scoffed “Are you so devoted to serving the Stark boy now?”

“He is King” snapped the older guard “and our loyalty is to lord Tyrion – the rightful lord of Casterly Rock”

It took every ounce of control Cersei possessed to hide her fury. It burned through her body, igniting an anger fierce enough she thought she might attack the man in front of her. The imp was alive; and he held her family’s titles. He’d destroyed their family, yet still he drew breath while she rotted down here.

She ground her teeth together, forcing a neutral face “How is my little brother?”

“That’s hardly your concern” scoffed the older guard

“I merely wondered if he was well enough to testify against me” said Cersei, perching on the edge of the filthy bed

“The way I heard it he can’t wipe his own arse” said the younger man, his mouth twitching upwards

“Enough Malcolm” warned the older man, turning to glare at the guard “Do not disrespect our lord”

“Do you think begging and scraping will soften the imp’s heart?” scoffed Cersei, levelling her gaze at the senior guard “You all served me as faithfully as you now claim to serve him. If he recovers-“

“He will” shot back the old guard, his mouth a hard line “Lady Stark cares for him day and night”

Cersei almost gagged at the thought. Was the Stark girl so damaged she’d care for that twisted creature?

The former Queen hid her disgust with a nod “I see. Then I wish your begging works out well for you”

“Why?” asked Malcolm, his forehead creased as if he couldn’t understand why they’d need to beg Tyrion

Cersei spread her hands “The Lannister guards served me faithfully – I daresay many of you enjoyed following my orders. Perhaps your lord will be forgiving of your many crimes against him”

The older guard’s eyes hardened “That is an issue for lord Tyrion to decide. Our duty is to serve him faithfully. Enough of your distractions woman; you’ve no power here. Either give us the names of witnesses to your defence, or confess to your sins and hope the Gods have mercy, because you’ll find none here”

The old guard was resigned to whatever fate Tyrion would assign him, but the widening of Malcolm’s eyes told Cersei this young man hadn’t merely followed her orders, but enjoyed them. Cersei wasn’t naive enough to believe all the Lannister guards enjoyed their role in her brother’s captivity, but some of them had taken to it with enthusiasm – particularly the younger ones. It was good sport to them; they were following orders and trying to buy favour with the Queen. Never did they think they’d find themselves at Tyrion’s mercy.

Cersei dropped her head, feigning innocence “Apologies, I did not mean to keep you from your duties. I’ve rather missed conversation I fear. I obviously wish the best for you both – such loyal servants of my house. Perhaps my brother won’t recall the faces of his tormentors, or find some forgiveness in his heart. For your sakes I hope for the former – the memory of how he killed our father and the whore who betrayed him often haunts my sleep”

* * *

Tyrion screwed his eyes shut as another of the creatures was placed on him, this time next to his right shoulder.

“You’re doing so well” came Sansa’s voice, and the familiar feel of her fingers brushing against his face “This will help you get better”

His heart pounded unevenly in his chest as he felt another creature being placed on him. The desire to escape was overwhelming but he couldn’t move from the bed. Sansa hadn’t seemed angry that he touched her hair; she’d been as kind to him as ever. When she asked if she could try something to make him comfortable he hadn’t thought it was a question. Yet Sansa had waited, her brilliant blue eyes watching him until he nodded slightly. Was that what he was supposed to do? Tyrion didn’t know; the rules kept changing and he couldn’t keep up.

Tyrion opened his eyes, squirming against the bed sheets and getting nowhere. Sansa had rearranged the sheets and blankets, leaving him no room to move. She’d placed pillows all down his right side and tucked the sheet under the mattress before doing the same to his left side. She’d been careful with his leg, but that was propped up on an extra pillow too. His brow furrowed thinking about his leg – it was wrapped in bandages but he didn’t know why. Sometimes it felt funny; like a dull ache. His arms weren’t trapped beneath the sheet but that made little difference - his right arm wouldn’t work anyway. At least he could still hold his friend in his other hand. Sansa had covered him in blankets when she was finished and asked if he was comfortable. He’d nodded his head even as his stomach twisted. The feeling of being trapped was suffocating.

Bad things happened when he was trapped.

The man in grey had come in soon after, and talked to Sansa in the corner for a while. When they’d come over to the bed Tyrion had expected the worst. He’d messed it up and broke the rules; he was going to be punished.

“Hang on a little longer my lord” said the man in grey “The leeches will help clear your system; they’re not here to harm you”

Tyrion tried to breathe in, but no breath would come. He was trapped - the pain would start soon. A whimper escaped him as he shuffled helplessly against the sheets.

Sansa leaned over him, her blue eyes glistening “I’m so sorry Tyrion, but this is for the best. I promised to take care of you, and this is the only way”

“Please…” he whispered “please help…”

Maybe Sansa would help him. She was kind and warm - maybe she’d take pity on him.

Her soft hand pressed against the side of his face “What can I do? Anything at all”

“Maybe…”

“You can tell me”

“…go back to cell”

Sansa’s face fell as she stroked his cheek, exchanging a look with the man in grey.

“You can’t go back Tyrion; that isn’t where you belong” she said gently

His heart sank as the man smiled at him “This won’t be forever my lord. You’re getting better every day. I think when we fix your shoulder you’ll be much more yourself”

“Sorry” he whispered; imps shouldn’t ask for things - monsters don’t get choices.

He dropped his head to the side trying to avoid their stares and the creatures stuck to him, but it was no use - there was nowhere for him to hide. Something wet trickled from his eyes again. Weakness. That’s what Cersei called it. That’s why he wasn’t a lion anymore.

Tyrion flinched as something soft pressed against his forehead, but he relaxed when Sansa’s bright red hair fell around him. She pulled back from the kiss, cupping his face and turning him to face her. Her blue eyes were swimming in unshed tears, and held such softness Tyrion was sure it wasn’t meant for him.

“Don’t be sorry Tyrion - none of this is your fault” said Sansa, her gentle voice washing over him “I promise, as soon as you’re well enough I’ll take you home. We’ll leave this horrible place far behind us”

Home?

Where was home for an imp?

Tyrion trembled as more weakness slid down his face. Everything was so confusing, but part of him wanted to believe what Sansa said. Wherever ‘home’ was, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad - at least it wouldn’t if Sansa was there.

* * *

The warmth of the day was a pleasant change from the inside of the Red Keep though it did very little to lift Sansa’s mood as she wandered through Kings Landing. Tyrion had become increasingly agitated as he was leeched, drifting between pleading with her and being lost in his own mind.

Maester Henly assured her it was a good thing – that it was likely pieces of Tyrion’s memory were returning. The man had spent yesterday studying Qyburn’s notes and the contents of the jars, and today had pulled her aside to give his verdict.

_“There’s good news and bad news my lady” he said, when Missandei had arrived and they’d left Tyrion under her supervision_

_“The bad news?” she asked as they made their way down the corridor_

_“There is no way to fix his hand” he said grimly “Based on the notes, Qyburn’s cut his hand open, removed a piece of bone and severed key nerves. I cannot say how much movement or feeling lord Tyrion will have in it until his shoulder has been fixed, but that hand will be largely useless to him”_

_“There’s no way to undo it?”_

_“I fear not my lady” said Henly “What Qyburn did was incredibly dangerous – it’s a small miracle lord Tyrion didn’t develop an infection and lose his hand at the very least. I take it that is lord Tyrion’s dominant hand?”_

_Sansa’s heart twisted as she nodded – that wouldn’t be his dominant hand anymore._

_“His knee was the other concern though there is perhaps a glimmer of hope there. From what I can gather Qyburn cut into the joint as a preliminary experiment and lord Tyrion was rescued before more damage could be done. Nevertheless samples of tissue and muscle were cut away. It’s possible that knee will be weak, but I don’t believe it will hinder him too badly when his broken leg has healed and he’s regained some strength”_

_“Anything else?” asked Sansa, dreading the answer_

_Henly stopped beside her “His shoulder needs to be broken again and set in its proper place – Qyburn identified two breaks in it and I daresay the procedure to fix it will be excruciating. I’d rather wait a couple more days before doing that. Lord Tyrion is quite malnourished and Qyburn has been experimenting on him with multiple unknown potions. Leeching him was unpleasant but it will need to be repeated to clear his system”_

_Sansa’s head spun with the information and its implications; a long recovery and scars that would last a lifetime. Still there was one question that burned above all others._

_“Do you think - when he’s had chance to recover - Tyrion will be Tyrion again?” she asked quietly_

_The Maester’s eyes brimmed with sympathy “That’s not for me to say my lady; trauma affects everyone differently and lord Tyrion has suffered immensely. He was not sedated for Qyburn’s experiments – he would have felt every cut of the knife as pieces of him were taken away. Let’s not forget this happened because he was betrayed by the Queen he trusted; and every beating, experiment and humiliation he endured was ordered by his own sister – she molested him multiple times based on Qyburn’s notes. I cannot say how lord Tyrion will mentally recover from this”_

_Sansa’s face crumpled as the full depth of Tyrion’s suffering was laid bare. She hated seeing him so confused. Every tear, every cry hammered at her defences. The memory of the Long Night drifted through her mind; of a strong hand holding hers and warm green eyes that promised they’d survive the crypt. Every day that image of Tyrion got a little further away from her._

_“My lady, all is not lost” said Henly, smiling kindly at her “Lord Tyrion’s current state is not permanent – of that I’m quite certain. I believe his physical state and the trauma he’s endured has caused his mind to turn inward; he is protecting himself. Lord Tyrion may not fully realise who you are, but some part of him recognises you and knows he’s safe when you’re with him”_

The conversation caused tears to burn at the back of Sansa’s eyes once again, but she refused to let them fall. Poor Tyrion had even asked to go back to his cell. From Tyrion’s perspective the cell might have been a relief for him. Qyburn’s notes made it clear he was regularly beaten there, but that violence probably didn’t compare to what Cersei and Qyburn did to him when he wasn’t in the cell. Going from a cold, dark cell visited only by monsters to a warm bed and bright room with constant supervision would be terrifying. Everything he’d gotten used to had been ripped away and replaced by a new routine.

Guilt crept through Sansa for not figuring it out sooner – her life with Ramsay had forced her to adapt to his brutal routine, and Theon Greyjoy had been unrecognisable in Winterfell. A lump formed in her throat at the thought of Theon. Ramsay had tortured him for years to make him Reek; grinding away all traces of Theon. The fear in Tyrion’s eyes was so familiar because she’d seen it in Theon’s eyes.

No. That wouldn’t happen. Tyrion was hurt and scared, but he wasn’t broken; she’d get him back – the monsters wouldn’t win.

She turned her attention to the sprawling mess that was Kings Landing. There would be a meeting later to go through the details of the North’s independence but before that Sansa had business in the city; a promise to Tyrion that had waited long enough.

“Shouldn’t you have more guards?” asked Arya, plodding along beside her “You’re Queen in the North after all”

“That hasn’t been decided” said Sansa, her cheeks reddening “Besides, you and Ser Brienne are with me”

“Who said we would protect you?” replied Arya, glancing around the bustling streets as they moved further from the Red Keep

Sansa turned to Brienne, the tall Knight smiling slightly “My sword is yours my lady”

They wandered between the merchants. It hadn’t taken long for Kings Landing to recover from battle. Most of the damage had occurred at the gates against the Golden Company, sparing the city any real harm. The people had easily accepted Bran as King but Sansa hadn’t doubted the people would accept a new monarch – anyone was better than Cersei.

“What are you looking for?” asked Arya, as Sansa browsed yet another shop for the needed item

She hesitated, turning away from her sister “There’s something I need to pick up”

“Like what?”

“Just something”

Sansa could feel the eyes of Arya and Brienne watching her, but refused to face them. She’d invited Brienne along as both protection and a trusted friend who wouldn’t mock her – Arya had invited herself.

“If you tell us we can help you look” said Arya

“I don’t need your help”

“Gods, it’s for Tyrion isn’t it?” groaned Arya “That’s why you’re being weird about it”

Sansa turned to her sister, her face burning “I never asked you to come Arya”

Brienne’s face was sympathetic at least. The lady Knight didn’t speak of it, but it was clear enough that she mourned Jamie. Her hand constantly fiddled with the lion head pommel of her sword and more than once she’d seen Brienne’s eyes red as if she’d been crying. Sansa hadn’t particularly liked Jamie but he’d meant a lot to at least two people. Brienne and Tyrion had both loved him – it was a loss Brienne could grieve, but Tyrion was in no state to do so. A pang went through Sansa at the thought; Tyrion had idolised his brother, and his Queen had killed him. In the space of weeks Tyrion’s life had changed forever. If he-when he regained awareness it would be to a whole new world.

“Is it anything we can help you with lady Sansa?” asked Brienne gently

Sansa swallowed thickly, holding her head with dignity “I told him I’d get him a new blanket”

Arya shook her head in disbelief “We’ve passed a hundred blankets”

“I promised it would be blue”

“Half of them were blue!”

Sansa turned away “If you’re going to mock me Arya then leave. I’m quite alright with Ser Brienne”

She turned her attention to the next merchant further up the road and hurried away from them. It was halfway towards the merchant that Sansa heard rowdy laughter and a man’s booming voice.

“- staggering up the road, covered in shit and blood – naked as his name day. I thought to meself I aint never gonna get so close to a highborn again”

The words stopped Sansa short, pulling her from her destination and down the side street where the noise was coming from. It opened into a small square at the back of a tavern with benches crammed in every inch of the area and a crowd of people hanging off them as they listened to the man in the middle. He looked no more than thirty, with a wispy black beard and scruffy hair. His face was alive with expression as he recounted his story to the waiting audience.

“I made sure I got to the front when he was getting close, but everyone wanted a piece of him didn’t they?” he continued “The beast got closer and I aint lying, there were tears on his face; mixed in with the shit and that”

The man crouched down, holding one arm out to demonstrate his words “I got real low and the moment he staggered past I pounced forwards”

He lunged forwards as a cold horror spread through Sansa. She stood frozen to the spot, an accidental witness to the confession.

“Did you get him?” asked a young boy, his eyes bright with an interest that sickened Sansa

A wide grin spread over the man’s face “Any of you know how big a dwarf’s cock is? Not that big, I can tell ya that! I got me hand right around him and gave him a yank – reckon I might be the first bloke to make the imp squeal”

Vomit rolled through Sansa’s stomach, burning its way up her throat as the man mimicked a high pitched squeal to the delight of the crowd.

Arya’s voice was low and dangerous in her ear “Say the word”

There was no need for an explanation. That man could be dead in a moment; he would tell no more tales of abusing Tyrion. She glanced sideways to see both Brienne and Arya had followed her, both wearing similar expressions of disgust. Arya had a knife in her hand already – it would be so easy to silence that man. It was possible he was lying to make himself look good; there were probably many like him in Kings Landing – all keen to tell stories of how they hurt Tyrion Lannister.

The thought extinguished the warmth of the day, bringing Sansa sharply back to the day of the riots when she’d nearly been raped. The people would turn on anybody – it didn’t matter Tyrion had once led the defence of the city against Stannis Baratheon. Nobody cared that Cersei was cruel and evil and would kill them all in a heartbeat – she’d given them a source of amusement.

Sansa ground her teeth together as the laughs of the crowd echoed off the buildings and into her soul. This place was a nest of vipers; rotten to the core without a shred of decency. If Sansa had ever doubted Northern independence this alone would strengthen her resolve. The North was cold and harsh; but Cersei’s brand of cruelty wouldn’t be tolerated by either the highborn or the lowborn. It was little wonder Starks did poorly in Kings Landing; honour was long dead here.

“After the guards pushed him further down the road I thought to meself; if he’s supposed to be a lion I must be a bloody God. No wonder the old lion was ashamed – if I had a lad like that I’d have to get rid of it!” continued the man to more laughter. The audience were joining the taunts; throwing out their own observations of Tyrion on his humiliating walk through the city.

“We should go” said Brienne, though her hand hovered on her sword

Arya’s face was expressionless, but her eyes were trained on the man “Say the word”

For a single moment Sansa wanted to let Arya do it. Buried deep inside her there was a creature that wanted blood; a wolf ready for prey. There was a document in Sansa’s gown – where she always kept it – that named the man they were mocking as her husband.

 _‘They’re monsters, they deserve it’_ urged one voice

 _‘You’ll become one too’_ whispered another

In the end Sansa stepped back, shaking her head at Arya. Killing this man would be satisfying but it wouldn’t be justice. The whole of Kings Landing had taken part in Tyrion’s humiliation – killing all his abusers would be a slaughter.

Justice would be done, and it would be done to Cersei Lannister.

* * *

Bran eyed the document in front of him that detailed the proposed arrangements between an independent North and the six Kingdoms. There was no need to read it – the three-eyed raven had watched Tyrion Lannister write it. Hours and hours of work had been poured into creating an agreement that would be fair to both kingdoms. A frown pulled at Bran’s face at the thought of Tyrion. This agreement had been written for Daenerys – not for him.

“Any issues your Grace?” asked Varys from his place beside him.

There were several positions to fill on his council, the most important of which was Hand of the King. Bran had a number of ideas for that position, but for now Varys would act as his hand.

“No” said Bran, his eyes drifting over Tyrion’s name and Sansa’s beside it. The rest of the present Northern lords had added their signatures below hers leaving room for Bran’s signature to the right of the document. The King lifted his voice, glancing at the assembled lords “I make no amendments”

A meeting had been convened in a long chamber in the Red Keep. Bran and Varys sat at one end of the long table with Sansa and lord Glover sat at the opposite end. Along the right side of the table sat the few Northern lords who were present in Kings Landing, including the young lord Cerwyn and a few more minor lords. To Bran’s left sat the lords and ladies representing the six Kingdoms including Gendry Baratheon, Ser Davos Seaworth and lord Royce. The new Prince of Dorne and Yara Greyjoy had left Kings Landing the day before, along with Edmure Tully. With the Iron Throne decided all that remained was politics and several of the lords had asked Bran’s leave to return to their own seats.

As Bran’s gaze moved over the two lords representing the Westerlands he wished more had gone home. Ser Harys Swyft was an old man easily recognised by the rooster sigil on his tunic. The man beside him was middle aged and it was him Bran focused on. War had decimated the Westerlands and Lord Lewys Lydden was one of the few noble lords remaining. The white badger sigil of his house stood out against his brown tunic and greying hair. Varys had told Bran the whispers but he already knew – and he hated what it would make him do.

“You accept the arrangement we’ve proposed?” asked Sansa

“I do” said Bran, carefully adding his own signature to the document “I Bran Stark, first of my name, King of the Andals and the first men, protector of the realm and lord of the six Kingdoms grant the North independence, subject to the agreements in this document”

Sansa’s face was hard to read, but Bran didn’t miss the flicker of joy in her eyes as Northern independence became official. The rest of the Northerners were much easier to read as they cheered in delight.

Varys took over the discussion, detailing the next steps for putting the arrangements in place. Maesters would make copies of the agreement and the next few days would be spent putting into place the initial trade agreements. The talk went on, and through it all Bran watched the two lords of the Westerlands. Lord Lydden was biding his time – he and Ser Harys Swyft had discussed this for days.

“Is there any other business to discuss?” asked Varys, folding his hands into his sleeves

Lord Lydden sat forwards, glancing up the table at Bran “Why yes – I was hoping arrangements could be made to return lord Tyrion to the Westerlands. I’ve been unable to get any information on his condition, but if all is well we can leave in a few days time”

“What?” demanded Sansa

“Forgive me my lady but this doesn’t concern you” said Ser Harys

“You want to take Tyrion – of course it concerns me” said Sansa, narrowing her eyes

Lord Lydden’s mouth twitched upwards “My lady, we intend to take our lord home. Leaving him in Kings Landing is hardly appropriate”

“He’s not staying here or going to the Westerlands” said Sansa, a tremor in her voice “He’s coming to Winterfell”

“I hardly think so” scoffed lord Lydden “The North is a separate Kingdom now, is it not? Why would we allow you to take the lord of Casterly Rock there? He would be your hostage”

Sansa froze as if she’d been slapped, but it hardly mattered – the soon to be Queen in the North had more friends at the table than the lords of the Westerlands did.

“I won’t hear you slander lady Stark” warned lord Royce “particularly when I saw neither of your houses near the battle of Kings Landing”

“Aye” agreed lord Glover “were you hiding under Casterly Rock?”

“Weren’t exactly marching to rescue your liege lord were you?” added lord Cerwyn

Ser Harys shrunk in his seat and lord Lydden’s face faltered momentarily at the sharp responses. Varys had warned Bran the lords of the Westerlands were making plans for Tyrion, and Bran had seen their conversations through the raven’s eyes. It had only been a matter of time before the issue was raised. Cersei would be put on trial within the next few days. When she was found guilty and justice was delivered Tyrion would be the last of the Lannisters – and the lords of the Westerlands saw many ways to use him.

“My lords, I fear moving lord Tyrion to the Westerlands is unwise. He is not at all well and is dependent on lady Stark for much of his care” said Varys 

Lord Lydden straightened in his seat “Yes, while we appreciate lady Sansa’s efforts on behalf of lord Tyrion there is no need to trouble her any further. My daughter Jeyne is a caring girl – she can tend to him”

The cold that descended on the room reminded Bran sharply of the White Walkers, only this time the source was Sansa. His sister’s eyes were as hard as ice as she turned on lord Lydden.

“Thank you for your generous offer my lord, but lord Tyrion will remain under my care” said Sansa “He is easily distressed and letting strangers take him is hardly in his best interests”

“We are not strangers my lady” grunted Ser Harys “It is only right lord Tyrion is brought to Casterly Rock and cared for by his own people – you are no longer part of this kingdom”

“Forgot us already?” snarled one of the Northerners “not like we just cleaned up your mess for ya”

“Weren’t so eager to come to Kings Landing when Cersei was in charge eh?” added another

Bickering descended on the table with the Northerners rising up in defence of Sansa. They didn’t care for Tyrion, but Sansa had won them independence – she was to be their Queen. If she wanted the Lannister dwarf they would not allow him to be taken. The lords of the Westerlands had no friends at the table either; Ser Davos, Gendry and lord Royce would back Sansa.

“How bad is the situation?” murmured Bran

Varys sighed “The majority of the lords in the six Kingdoms do not care what happens to lord Tyrion, and we both know why the lords of the Westerlands are keen to take him there. While we know your sister means the best for Tyrion, to many he will be seen as a political prisoner...unless certain things are brought to light”

Bran nodded his understanding, turning his attention to the bickering table. Sansa’s face had turned near murderous as she argued with lord Lydden, giving her an unexpected resemblance to Arya. He didn’t want to do this, but as King he couldn’t be seen to favour his family.

“Enough” called Bran, bringing silence to the table “I understand both sides have fair points in this argument, and neither will back down”

“Lord Tyrion belongs in the Westerlands” said Ser Harys “It’s outrageous that we, his banner men, have been unable to see him or even get a full report on his injuries. It makes you wonder what exactly is being hidden”

“What do you think is being hidden my lord?” asked Sansa, her voice low and dangerous

Ser Harys held his hands up “I do not accuse you my lady – these are things many in the Westerlands think”

“Your Grace there is simply no good reason why lord Tyrion should go North, particularly in such a vulnerable state” said lord Lydden “The Westerlands formally requests our liege lord is returned to his home” 

“I spoke to Maester Gallard just this morning” said Ser Harys “He believes returning lord Tyrion to Casterly Rock is the best course of action”

Sansa’s blue eyes burned into Bran from across the table. She wouldn’t be happy with him, but if the independent North and the six Kingdoms were to be successful there could be no bad blood. Allowing her to take Tyrion would ignite rumours of favouritism - of not acting in the interests of the lords of the six Kingdoms.

“There will be a hearing to decide this” said Bran “and I will not decide alone. Given lord Tyrion is Warden of the West and the North is now independent it is in everyone’s best interest to decide this publically”

“Bran…” said Sansa, fear spreading through her eyes

“You will each have the chance to make your case” said Bran “the hearing will take place tomorrow afternoon and you may present whatever evidence you wish”

Ser Harys and lord Lydden shared a smile.

“Thank you your Grace” said lord Lydden “Might we see lord Tyrion before then? It’s better my daughter get acquainted with him before we travel”

“He’s _not_ going to the Westerlands” snapped Sansa, her usually regal face turning wolfish with anger

“If we cannot see lord Tyrion, surely no-one else should either until the situation is resolved” said Ser Harys

Sansa paled, her face warring between panic and anger “No…he can’t be left alone”

Bran’s stomach twisted unexpectedly as his sister silently pleaded with him “From my understanding there are only a few people lord Tyrion is comfortable around at the moment, and one of them is lady Sansa. Nevertheless, as King I must be fair - Missandei and Maester Henly will be the only ones permitted to see lord Tyrion until after the hearing”

“Bran, please…he’s scared” said Sansa, the tremble in her voice betraying her true feelings

“Perhaps lady Sansa should be allowed a final visit” suggested Varys, glancing between them “just to prepare lord Tyrion for her absence tomorrow. From what I understand any changes to his routine distress him in his current state, and I see no harm in a short visit”

“Done” said Bran, gazing at his sister “You may visit lord Tyrion when we are done here, after which no-one but Missandei or his Maester will be allowed access”

Sansa’s face crumpled as she nodded her acceptance. It was the smallest change, but if you knew Sansa well enough it told you everything you needed to know about her true feelings.

The table was united against the lords of the Westerlands, with the Northerners, Ser Davos, Gendry and lord Royce glaring at them in varying levels of annoyance. It didn’t seem to matter to either of the lords - they had what they wanted. As Bran watched his sister move to leave with the Northerners, he knew it was time Sansa decided what she wanted.

* * *

Sansa’s hand shook as she tucked the new blanket around Tyrion, though she made certain to keep a smile on her face.

“As promised” she said “a new blanket in your favourite colour”

His eyes widened at the gift; the hint of a smile pulling at his mouth. Deciding on a blanket had been difficult, mostly because there were so many options and Sansa wanted something special for him. Poor Tyrion had suffered so much - surely he deserved some kind of comfort? In the end she’d found one that matched all of her requirements. The blanket was high quality, soft and thick - most importantly it was a patchwork of different shades of blue.

“I wasn’t sure what shade of blue you liked best, so I got you one with some variety” she said “It’ll keep you warm when we go…”

Sansa trailed off, anxiety ripping through her heart. When they went where? If the hearing went against her tomorrow Tyrion would be taken to the Westerlands and away from her. She drew in a shaky breath, pushing the thought aside. That wouldn’t happen; it was damned obvious why the lords of the Westerlands wanted Tyrion and she wouldn’t allow him to be used.

“Thank you” he said softly, his green eyes flitting between her and the blanket

“You’re very welcome” said Sansa “I wish there was more I could do for you”

It wasn’t fair. Tyrion wasn’t well, and he was so afraid - how could she be expected to stay away from him? Missandei told her Tyrion had slept while she was gone but had become distressed in his sleep, mumbling ‘stop’ and ‘Jamie’ repeatedly before waking in a panic. It was both a good and bad sign. Maester Henly said the leeching would help to clear his system from Qyburn’s experiments, but it also meant whatever barrier was keeping the trauma at bay was weakening. Henly thought Tyrion would return to himself in time, but the path to get there was bathed in horror. Tyrion’s nightmares would only get worse as he began to recover. Even as he lay in the bed he was more lethargic than usual. This morning he’d pulled and strained against the tight bed sheets holding him still, but now he simply lay there - a look of mild discomfort lurking on his face.

She reached out, brushing her hand against his cheek. The Tyrion she knew so well was in there somewhere, but this Tyrion wasn’t him. This one was lost and scared and couldn’t defend himself - until he healed Sansa would protect him.

Frustration flickered across Tyrion’s face as he looked at the blanket and it took Sansa a moment to realise what the cause was. His left hand was still gripping the filthy rag he was attached to and his right arm wouldn’t work, leaving Tyrion unable to hold both his old and new blanket. If he wanted to feel the new one properly he would need to relinquish the old one.

Sansa lifted a piece of the blue blanket, brushing it against his face “Nice and soft, isn’t it?”

His green eyes brightened at the action, gazing at her with a warmth that threatened to melt the walls she’d built long ago. It was so easy to let her guard down when Tyrion was like this; he didn’t really understand what was going on, or who he was - giving him affection didn’t mean anything.

 _‘Yes it does’_ whispered her mind _‘You’re just not brave enough to accept it’_

He was her friend, and he needed some comfort and protection; there was nothing more to it.

The light in the room was beginning to fade as the sun began its descent, reminding Sansa that her time with Tyrion was limited. After days at his bedside she’d been permitted no more than an hour with him tonight and wouldn’t be allowed to see him until after the hearing tomorrow.

 _‘If you lose, you won’t see him at all’_ taunted her mind _‘they’ll take him away and you know what they’ll do’_

Unfortunately she knew exactly what they’d do. Cersei’s fate was near-hand and Tyrion would be the last of the Lannisters when it happened. Where Sansa had once been called the key to the North, Tyrion would become the key to the West. From what Sansa understood of the Westerlands there was no major house ready to claim control of the West – most had been decimated through years of war. The clearest way to power was for a lesser house to join with house Lannister; and the only way to do that was through Tyrion.

The concern the lords of the Westerlands had for their liege lord went no further than his name and his cock. Anger curled through Sansa as her mind worked through what would happen if she lost the hearing.

Tyrion would be taken to Casterly Rock, and within a few weeks he would be married to lord Lydden’s daughter. Sansa could almost imagine the wedding. Tyrion would be clutching his ragged blanket in one hand while his bride held his useless one. Someone would be whispering in his ear, telling him what to do and say as the vows were exchanged. It would be a small wedding, painted as a love match between the lord of Casterly Rock and the girl who nursed him back to health. Lord Lydden would rule through his daughter, while she bedded Tyrion until his seed took root. He wouldn’t be given any choice; they’d coerce him to do as they wanted, and a Maester could probably teach Jeyne Lydden how to use Tyrion in bed. Tyrion wouldn’t heal because nobody would care enough to help him. He’d be left forgotten; a prisoner in his own home to be brought out on special occasions or when a child was needed. Tyrion would never be fit to rule, and lord Lydden would rule in his name until a son from Tyrion came of age; a boy with lion’s blood, but raised without his father. It wasn’t hard to imagine Tyrion would be discarded eventually, when an heir and a spare were taken from him. A few drops of poison in his drink and the lord of Casterly Rock would die in his sleep, alone and-

“Sansa?”

The frightened whisper snapped Sansa from her increasingly dark thoughts to the worried eyes of Tyrion watching her. She realised her face had betrayed her growing fury; inadvertently startling Tyrion who probably thought her ire was directed at him.

“Sorry” she said, smiling at him “I got distracted for a moment”

He nodded, biting his lip as a soft rap sounded at the door. Sansa’s stomach lurched – that was the signal her time was at an end. Maester Henly would stay with Tyrion tonight and Missandei would stay with him tomorrow. Sansa ignored the sound, turning her focus back to Tyrion.

“Do you remember I said we’d go home soon? There are some things I need to sort out before we can go, so I won’t be able to see you until late tomorrow” she told him, gently stroking his cheek “I don’t want you to worry, Maester Henly and Missandei will still be here with you”

Tyrion’s eyes filled with a panic that broke her heart just as easily as it stirred something she couldn’t name. She leaned over him, tucking his new blanket tightly around him before kissing his forehead.

Bran was King and he’d declared there would be a hearing to decide Tyrion’s fate, but when she returned North Sansa would be Queen – and she learned long ago not to trust in fate or Kings.

“No matter what I’m going to take you home Tyrion, I promise”


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Sansa rubbed at her eyes, helplessness bubbling inside her as Tyrion’s faint whimpers drifted through the wall.

“Almost finished my lord” came Henly's voice

It didn’t matter that Sansa wasn’t in the room with them, she had a good idea what was going on. Tyrion’s private area had been bruised and swollen when they found him - damage they now knew had been caused by Cersei. Maester Henly didn’t believe there would be any long term damage there, but regular exams were a necessary precaution, however much Tyrion hated it. While Sansa was careful to leave the more intimate aspects of Tyrion’s care to the Maester she was usually with him during exams or when he needed to use the chamber pot. If nothing else she could distract him, and keep him calm while the Maester worked.

None of which she could do from in here. 

It was cruel. Her chambers were right next to Tyrion’s and she’d heard his distress through the wall, but was completely unable to help him - all because the lords of the Westerlands had seen a way to use Tyrion. Because of them she wasn’t allowed to see Tyrion until tomorrow’s hearing had taken place, and if she lost that she wouldn’t be able to see him at all.

 _‘Why would that matter?’_ taunted her mind

Of course it mattered. Tyrion was her friend; she wouldn’t allow him to be used.

_‘Is that why you’ve sat with your ear pressed to the wall all evening?’_

That wasn’t true. She’d moved the desk closer to that wall for better lighting, not so she could listen out for Tyrion. It was only a coincidence she’d heard him through the wall - his bed was quite close to the other side after all.

The issue of Northern independence had been resolved but there were still things to do before she could return to Winterfell. The most important was securing Tyrion’s passage north, but there was relatively little she could do until the hearing and staying in her room was becoming unbearable.

Another whimper drifted through the wall. Too subtle for most people to notice, but Sansa wasn't most people and she'd come to know the sound of Tyrion's distress well. Her guards had been stood down from their duty until tomorrow and Bran had chosen a few of his own guards to stand at Tyrion's door instead. There was no chance she could get in the room, no matter how much she wanted to.

Listening to Tyrion was growing increasingly difficult. None of this was his fault. Daenerys was the one who betrayed him.

_'Because of who?'_

Guilt swelled in Sansa as she sank deeper into her seat. She hadn't trusted the dragon Queen, but she'd never imagined Daenerys would question Tyrion's loyalty because of their friendship.

_"You seem rather busy my lord" said Sansa, noticing the piles of papers and books spread around the table_

_"Too busy I fear" he answered, slumping in his chair_

_Sansa halted, turning to leave "Oh. Apologies my lord, I've no wish to distract you..."_

_"No! Please join me" he said hurriedly, gesturing to the spare seat "I'm in desperate need of a distraction"_

_"If you're sure I'm not disturbing you"_

_"Certainly not. I'd suggest things would be worse if you didn't join me"_

_"How so?"_

_Tyrion's face was tired, but his eyes were warm and bright "Without your calming presence there's every chance I'll set fire to all this work and be done with it. You, and only you can save me from invoking my Queen's wrath"_

_Sansa pretended to consider for a moment, before taking the seat beside him "Very well. I suppose I can save you"_

_He smiled "Lady Sansa, I'm quite certain you're the only one who can"_

How many times had they stumbled upon each other in Winterfell? It was a large castle. No matter how full it was, it shouldn't have been possible to keep finding each other the way they had. Yet Sansa had often found herself working beside Tyrion or crossing paths with him without quite understanding how it happened. It wasn't just her; he'd seemed equally bemused by it.

 _"Are you stalking me lady Sansa?"_ he'd once quipped, after walking into each other for the tenth time that day

No, she hadn't been stalking him. Yet somehow she always knew where to find him. Sansa laid her hand on the wall, hoping he would sense she was close. The tangled web of feelings and things unsaid could be dealt with at home. For now there were more immediate problems to address, with the fate of Cersei Lannister being one of them. Sansa's blood boiled at the thought of the last Queen. Daenerys betrayal would have crushed Tyrion, but it was his sister's cruelty that had shattered him.

"You're not alone Tyrion" she whispered to the wall "I'll see that justice is done for you, and no matter what you're coming home with me. Just be brave a little longer"

* * *

"Why would you let it go to a hearing?" asked Jon, staring at his brother

"It was the only way"

"You're the King. There were other ways"

Bran shook his head "The North is independent. It can be a good thing for the North, but there are consequences too. Letting Sansa take Tyrion simply because they're friends would be frowned upon by many"

"You can't want those lords from the Westerlands to take him? You know what that would do to Sansa"

Bran's face was unreadable "Sansa has a good chance of winning, but the North is a separate kingdom now and allowing the lord of Casterly Rock to be taken there in such a vulnerable state would be seen as negligent by many. As King I have a duty to the six Kingdoms and it's lords"

This shouldn't be so difficult. It was obvious to anyone with eyes Sansa held no sinister intentions towards Tyrion. Tomorrow's hearing would be a political battlefield when there was no reason for it to be. It hadn't taken long for news of the hearing to reach him and Arya. While Arya had quickly disappeared doing who knows what, Jon had decided to be direct with Bran. He'd hoped convincing his brother to call the whole thing off would be easy, but the new King was determined for it to go ahead - as if it was inevitable.

Bran folded his hands in his lap, his dark eyes looking through him "Sansa has everything she needs to win, it just depends on if she's willing to use it"

"If she doesn't win you'll let Tyrion be taken to Casterly Rock?"

"I'll have no choice"

"There's always a choice Bran"

"You could have been King, but you chose not to be" said Bran "these choices could have been yours instead of mine"

Jon shook his head "I wouldn't be a good King"

"Some thought you were the Prince who was promised"

"That was never me"

Bran's gaze turned thoughtful "No, it wasn't"

* * *

The creak of the door at the end of the corridor was one Cersei had become overly familiar with. It was usually the only sound she heard all day and night. The unsullied guards never spoke and rarely moved. If Cersei hadn't seen the guards change over every so often she might have thought they were made from stone.

Light flickered down the corridor, casting a soft glow that just about reached her cell. The former Queen pushed up from her shabby bed, creeping towards her cell door. It was the middle of the night, and the guards had changed over not long ago. Could this be her long awaited rescue?

The light stopped just outside her cell door - illuminating the face of Sansa Stark.

"Expecting someone else?" she asked, her blue eyes sweeping over Cersei

If she thrust her hand through the bars would it be possible to reach the Stark girl's throat? The glint of satisfaction in her eyes was nearly enough to make Cersei risk it.

But no. Reacting would only make the girl think she'd won, and Cersei was far from beaten. Instead Cersei pulled her mouth into a smirk.

"I didn't expect you to visit me"

"Neither did I" said Sansa, her voice devoid of any warmth

Cersei smiled widely, sweeping her arms around the cell "I'd invite you in little dove, but this cell is rather cramped"

"Enjoy it while you can"

"Am I going somewhere?"

"You're going to die"

Something cold slithered down Cersei's back though she kept her face neutral. She was a lion after all, and no lion would bow before a wolf.

"Are you going to do it yourself?" asked Cersei, searching Sansa's face. The Stark bitch had always been cold, but there was something else lurking in her expression. She was angry - as much as she was trying to hide it. No...or could it possibly be true?

"So tell me, does my little brother miss me?"

Sansa had always hid her emotions well, but at the mention of Tyrion her eyes narrowed to icy slits.

"Don't call him that"

Gods, it was true. Cersei gagged at the thought. How anyone could love the wretched little monster was beyond her, but it had given her the upper hand in the conversation. If Sansa had a weak spot it could always be used against her.

Cersei tilted her head curiously "Why not? He is my little brother"

"You lost the right to call him that when you tortured him"

"That was Qyburn. I daresay he got carried away" said Cersei, shrugging

"It was your orders he was following, and you will pay for what you've done to Tyrion"

"Will I?"

Anger flashed in the Stark girl's eyes but it was the only hint of emotion she spared "Tyrion is the lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. You hurt him, but you didn't break him. He has the rest of his life to look forward to, and you have nothing. You'll die a hated Queen with no legacy. You'll be nothing"

Cersei grit her teeth, making sure her face remained unbothered "Perhaps little dove, but what of you? You came all this way south and you're not even the Queen. Was it for love? I hope not. The imp isn't capable of it you know. He killed his last lover"

"You don't know what you're talking about" said Sansa, her face a mask of denial "and I know what happened with Shae"

Stupid girl. The truth was written in her every action; only she refused to see it. Sansa stepped back from the cell door, turning down the corridor. Cersei couldn't resist. She leaned against the bars, watching her former ward leave.

"You know what happened with Shae, but I doubt you know what happened to my brother's first wife" said Cersei, her smile widening as Sansa paused "I never found out what happened to her after she left the Rock but I can't imagine she lasted long after abuse like that"

The Stark girl stood at the end of the corridor for a moment with her back to the cells. Cersei watched her, anticipating her reaction. She didn't get one. Sansa carried on without looking back; giving no indication she'd heard.

It didn't matter - Cersei knew she had heard. At least she knew Sansa's weakness now, and could use it against her. The girl should have listened to the advice she gave her long ago; love no-one but your children.

* * *

Arya slipped through the castle on silent feet. The earliest hours of the morning were often the most interesting after all. She passed the kitchens where the servants were just beginning to prepare the day’s food, and then the servants who seemed to be endlessly cleaning the Red Keep. They all had stories and information, but none that was of interest to Arya.

The barracks in Kings Landing were huge and packed - housing both the gold cloaks and currently the Lannister and Northern armies. The Knights of the Vale and the unsullied were being housed there too. Getting in wasn’t difficult, nor was blending in. Most people never looked too closely at her, much like when she was a child.

She came to a stop near the Lannister part of the barracks.

Sansa had asked her to find out which guards were loyal to Tyrion and if any might be a problem. The task was easier said than done. She’d found most guards and servants grumbled about whoever they served. Separating general complaints from threats was difficult, and required more time than Arya could truly devote to it. The hearing would take place at midday and she needed to be there for her sister.

But now, in the early hours of the morning when the castle was just stirring to life Arya could observe. Some people said a lot and meant very little, while others said nothing but were dangerous. Whispers of plots and treason never faded, regardless of who sat the throne or who ruled as lord - the challenge was in finding the truth. 

* * *

It shouldn't bother her. Cersei was a liar, nothing she said could be believed. There was no reason for Sansa to think Cersei was telling the truth now. She'd never heard anything at all about Tyrion being married before - surely it was a lie to rattle her.

_'...can't imagine she lasted long after abuse like that'_

Sansa swallowed down the lump in her throat. Even if Tyrion had been married before he wasn't abusive; he wasn't like Joffrey or Ramsay. It couldn't be true, and even if it was why should it bother her? She knew Tyrion well enough, and he'd always been kind to her. Besides they were only friends. There was no reason for her to know his past, or whatever malicious rumours Cersei hoped to spread.

"Lady Sansa, are you alright?"

Brienne's voice pulled her from her thoughts and back to the increasingly packed throne room. This wasn't a trial - there was no need for such a crowd.

"Why are there so many people here?" whispered Sansa

Pod leaned past Brienne to answer "This is one of the King's first appearances in public. Some just want to see the kind of King he is"

"And the others?"

Pod's face tightened "Many are from the Westerlands"

The throne room grew increasingly packed but Sansa was somewhat relieved to find a number of the Northerners had come too. They didn't care at all for Tyrion, but were well aware Sansa wanted to take him to Winterfell. With Northern independence decided, securing custody of Tyrion had become the new focus for the restless Northerners and a way to win against the Westerlands. She supposed old rivalries were difficult to erase.

The room buzzed with activity around Sansa but she barely paid any attention to it. Restlessness had driven her to see Cersei last night but the experience hadn't made her feel any better. Listening to Tyrion’s frightened whimpers next door had stoked the anger that lay beneath her calm exterior. Confronting Cersei had seemed the ideal way to vent and remind herself they’d won. Yet all it had done was further her anger at the former Queen's callous cruelty to Tyrion and left her with questions she couldn't answer. No matter how much she told herself it wasn't her business, the question of Tyrion's first wife wouldn't leave her alone. All night she'd gone over Cersei's words and hated herself for succumbing to the manipulative woman's game. An untrusting part of Sansa feared what she may not know about Tyrion, but a deeper part of her felt strangely at the thought she wasn't his first wife.

"Good luck" said Jon, clamping a hand on her shoulder

She flinched at the sudden contact, offering him a weak smile "Thank you"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I'll just be glad when this is over"

"Me too" said Jon, giving her shoulder a squeeze before moving to take his seat to one side with Brienne, Pod, Ser Davos and Grey Worm.

Sansa hadn't noticed her sister's presence at all until she was stood next to her.

"Don't worry if you lose" she whispered "Tyrion won't be going to the Westerlands after all the bloody trouble you went through to rescue him"

Sansa nodded, desperately trying to bring her focus to the present. This wasn't the time to think about Cersei and her lies. If she lost her focus now she could lose Tyrion. He couldn't defend himself at the moment, but she could defend him.

_"I promise you this, I won't ever hurt you"_

The words drifted through Sansa, steeling her resolve. It didn't matter what anyone else said, she knew Tyrion was a good man - and he'd always kept his promise to her. Now it was her turn to keep her promise.

"That's Jeyne Lydden" murmured Arya, nodding towards a girl sat beside lord Lydden

The girl looked barely ten and six, with light brown hair that fell to her waist. She wore a low cut gown that left little to the imagination and was nodding politely at whatever her father was telling her. Ser Harys Swyft and Maester Gallard stood beside them too - no doubt making their plans for Tyrion which Sansa would make sure never came to pass.

Sansa moved her gaze from them to the Iron Throne where Bran now sat. A blanket was draped over his useless legs but he seemed at ease on the throne. Beside him sat a plump man, with a ring of brown hair that was quickly turning grey. He wore a simple robe of white with a gold sash around his shoulders decorated with the seven pointed star.

"Who is that?" asked Sansa

"The new High Septon" said Arya "You need to convince him and Bran to win this - and the new Grand Maester"

Her eyes darted to the empty chair on Bran's right "Who is the Grand Maester? I didn't know Bran had chosen someone"

Arya smirked "You'll see, but suffice to say Gallard is a bit put out"

Her sister disappeared in the direction of Jon, leaving Sansa thoroughly confused. Gallard had originally taken charge of Tyrion's care and made little effort to hide his attempt to win her favour. The older man had been perfectly happy to do the bare minimum for Tyrion and was far more concerned with politics than treating him. She'd forgotten all about him until the lords of the Westerlands mentioned him yesterday, and from where he was stood in conversation with lord Lydden it appeared he was now working against her. Sansa pursed her lips; the old Maester hadn't liked his dismissal, or that she chose Henly over him. From what Arya had said Gallard had been unsuccessful in his bid to become Grand Maester too. While the position wasn't actually chosen by the King or Queen, their favour did hold some sway.

Or a lot of sway, Sansa thought, as Samwell Tarly hurried into the chamber and into the seat next to Bran. How had Sam ended up Grand Maester? She turned to her family finding both Jon and Arya looking thoroughly bemused. The lady of Winterfell straightened up, gathering her confidence. Sam was a decent man - surely he would sympathise with her point of view. Bran was unpredictable but he liked Tyrion and Sansa wanted to believe he wouldn't let any harm befall him. The High Septon was the biggest unknown.

"My lady" greeted Henly, inclining his head as he fell into step beside her. Varys was moving to take his position beside the throne. As Bran's acting hand he would preside over the hearing.

"How is he?" asked Sansa

"Well enough" said the Maester, smiling slightly "though I do believe he misses you"

Sansa's heart twisted at the thought. All morning she'd tried to prepare for this hearing, only to find herself distracted by Cersei's words. Poor Tyrion had been with Missandei in the room next door, completely oblivious to what was going on and, apparently, missing her.

 _'I miss you too'_ she thought.

That much she could admit to. No matter what Cersei said, or what feelings were buried beneath her increasingly fragile shield Sansa couldn't deny something was missing when Tyrion wasn't around. He might not be himself at the moment, but he was still Tyrion.

Varys opened the hearing, acting as Bran's hand. He was explaining the purpose of the hearing and why it had been called, but the words barely registered in Sansa's mind. The room was packed, and Sansa was overly aware of the crowd behind her. She and Maester Henly were positioned on one side of the hall before the throne while lord Lydden was on the other side with his daughter, Ser Harys Swyft and Maester Gallard. Surely this matter could have been decided privately? Tyrion would be humiliated to know a hearing had been called to decide who got custody of him - as if he was a prized hostage rather than one of the most powerful lords in Westeros.

Anger flickered through Sansa, melting some of her nerves. The logical part of her mind knew why Bran was doing this. He was the King and the North was now independent - Bran had to be seen to be impartial. He needed to appease lord Lydden's request and make sure the rest of Westeros could see his decision making. Understanding Bran's actions didn't mean she liked them however.

"Lord Lydden is representing the Westerlands in this hearing" said Varys, sweeping his hand towards the lord "I would invite him to state his case to the King and his advisors"

The lord stepped forwards, bowing his head humbly before Bran, Sam and the High Septon.

"Your Grace, on behalf of the Westerlands I formally request that Tyrion Lannister - the lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West - is given leave to return to his home and recover there from his ordeal" said lord Lydden

"Why should he return there?" asked Bran "Lord Tyrion hasn't set foot in Casterly Rock for years"

"That may be true, but it is his home and there are many servants available to cater to his every need. Maester Gallard has informed me of lord Tyrion's injuries and believes it is in his best interests to return him to his home where his own people can care for him" said lord Lydden, nodding towards the Maester "I for one am inclined to agree with his experienced opinion"

Bran gazed at the lord a moment longer before turning his focus to her “I believe there’s a challenge to this request”

“Yes, your Grace” said Varys “Sansa Stark, the lady of Winterfell, opposes this course of action”

“She’s our Queen!” bellowed a man, his voice coming from somewhere behind Jon and Arya. The rest of the Northerners were quick to echo the sentiment.

As heart-warming as it was Sansa wished they wouldn’t call her as that. It was more than likely she would become Queen when they returned home but right now the title would only make it more difficult to keep Tyrion with her. It reinforced the North’s separation from the six Kingdoms and called into question her reasons for taking the lord of Casterly Rock there.

Sansa stepped forwards “It’s quite alright, we are in the six Kingdoms and I am the lady of Winterfell. The leadership of the North will be decided when we return home”

“And this is where you wish to take Tyrion Lannister?” asked Bran. His eyes seemed a thousand years old as they looked through her; challenging her to fight for what she wanted.

“It is” said Sansa, lifting her chin “Lord Tyrion was betrayed by Daenerys Targaryen and held prisoner by his sister for weeks before I rescued him. His time in captivity has left him badly injured and currently unable to make his own decisions regarding his care. I believe it is in his best interests to travel North where I can ensure he is cared for properly”

“Why would he not be cared for properly in the Westerlands?” cut in lord Lydden

“He has no family there”

“Nor does he in the North”

“There is no-one in the Westerlands concerned with his wellbeing”

The man’s eyes narrowed “What exactly are you implying my lady?”

“Only that the Westerlands did not move to liberate their liege lord, but were perfectly happy to serve Cersei Lannister”

“She was Queen, and as far we were aware lord Tyrion had been disinherited”

“So lord Tyrion is supposed to accept you’re all now loyal to him? I’ve never once heard him speak of you my lord - why should he be taken to the Westerlands and cared for by strangers?”

The older lord’s face twitched, but he didn’t lose his composure “I could ask you the same question my lady. What is your interest in the lord of Casterly Rock? You wanted Northern independence and you got it. The affairs of the Westerlands are not your concern”

“Lord Tyrion is my friend”

Lord Lydden smiled thinly “As touching as that is, it’s hardly a valid reason for allowing the Warden of the West to be taken to an independent Kingdom, particularly in such a vulnerable state”

Henly moved forwards to stand next to her “Your Grace, it would be a mistake to separate lord Tyrion from lady Sansa. The trauma he suffered has left him deeply distrustful and easily panicked. In order for him to have the best chance of recovery it is essential he is surrounded by familiar, trusted faces”

“I hardly think so” said Maester Gallard, his heavy chain clinking “Lord Tyrion barely knows who he is. Anyone who smiles at him he’s likely to consider his friend. Casterly Rock is the best place for him to recover. There are many lords and ladies there who can oversee his recovery and ensure the Westerlands is being run effectively in his absence”

Bran was unreadable as he sat the throne and it only intensified Sansa’s nerves. They had to understand. He was her friend - what reason could be more valid than that? The last of his family was Cersei and she was the one who’d hurt him so badly in the first place. The High Septon was looking thoughtfully between them, but had yet to offer his opinion. Sam looked out of place beside the throne but he was the only friendly face up there.

“I was at Winterfell with lady Sansa and lord Tyrion” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his grey robes “they were often together. Surely lord Tyrion would feel safer going somewhere familiar. He’s friends with Jon too”

Lord Lydden spread his hands “I do not doubt at all that lady Stark and lord Tyrion were on friendly terms before this incident but that hardly means our lord should be sent North. I assume you have ravens up there lady Stark, I’m sure lord Tyrion would appreciate your correspondence”

The hall erupted in sniggers from the Westerlands side and Sansa’s cheeks burned at their mockery. This was politics - nobody cared what Tyrion wanted, or what was really in his best interests. Lord Lydden’s daughter was smiling sweetly at Bran, as if that would convince him to side with her father.

Sansa drew in a breath, trying to ignore the fear curling around her heart. If she lost this hearing Tyrion would be taken away and married off to lord Lydden’s daughter. That was their plan - it was as clear as day but nobody else cared to see it.

“Lady Sansa, is there anything else you wish to bring to the attention of the council before a decision is made?” asked Bran, his dark eyes somber as they fell on her.

She’d lost.

Or had she?

Friendship alone wasn’t enough to cut through the political bindings that would keep Tyrion from her, but the document in her gown could.

“There is…” she said, her voice faltering as her heart pounded unevenly in her chest

Could she really do this? It might be enough to protect Tyrion, to keep him with her - but it would change everything. Cersei’s words wrapped around her throat like a snake, stirring one of her deepest fears. The consequences of her marriage to Ramsay Bolton would never truly leave her. The fear of finding a monster beneath every friendly face hung in the back of her mind like a dark cloud. On most days she could ignore it. The fear was irrational and unfair to those who'd done her no wrong. Not every man was a monster lying in wait.

"Well?" prompted lord Lydden, a smirk on his face

Warm green eyes drifted through her mind, and the feel of a strong hand gripping her own as it had in the crypts. Bran, Sam and the High Septon were all watching her. The eyes of the crowd were burning into her back.

"You can't take Tyrion away from me" she said, letting her voice waver "he's my husband"

The effect was immediate as a frantic muttering broke out in the crowd. The frantic pounding of her heart was a small price to pay for the look on lord Lydden's face. The smirk had dropped immediately from the older man's face, replaced instead by rapidly building panic. Sansa had released the truth of her marriage status to the public, and navigating the implications of that was a problem for later. Right now the piece of paper in her gown had thrown lord Lydden's plans into disarray.

"That's not possible!" protested Ser Harys, glaring daggers at her "Your marriage to lord Tyrion wasn't consummated - the whole of Westeros knows it"

Maester Gallard had paled considerably at her words but now frantically bobbed his head "Quite right, and lady Sansa has been married since - which was consummated by all accounts"

The mention of her marriage to Ramsay was enough to cut through the storm of conflicting feelings her announcement had freed. Her hand trembled as she reached into the folds of her gown and pulled out the marriage certificate.

"That's where you're wrong" said Sansa, lifting the document "I was falsely told an annulment had been made but that wasn't true. By the laws of gods and men Tyrion Lannister is my husband"

"That marriage was a sham" sneered lord Lydden "it was unconsummated and you've been wed since. The High Septon can easily put it aside"

Sansa flicked her eyes towards the man sat to the Bran's left. He'd been quiet throughout the hearing, listening to both sides with a thoughtful look on his face. He wasn't like the Septons Sansa had met before, or the one who'd married her to Tyrion. The man had an open face and a calm demeanour and unlike others she'd met Sansa thought this High Septon might not be playing the game of thrones.

Varys hurried down from beside the throne, holding his hand out for the certificate. For a moment Sansa didn't want to let it go. It was the only proof she had of their marriage, and the thing that gave her a claim to Tyrion. Varys seemed to sense her reluctance.

"The High Septon and Grand Maester should see it" he said softly

Handing it over was surprisingly difficult. Would the High Septon simply tear it up? The thought caused her heart to twist.

The whole room seemed to wait in tense anticipation as the certificate was passed from Sam to Bran and then the High Septon. Maester Henly was looking at her curiously - the news of her marriage was as surprising to him as it was to everyone outside her family - but Sansa couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. Lord Lydden and Ser Harys were whispering furiously with Gallard, who was presumably taking the blame for not knowing about the marriage. Everything hung on the High Septon though. He could dissolve her marriage in minutes.

When he lifted his head from the document the whole room fell silent.

"The marriage was never annulled" he announced, turning his eyes to her "When did you discover this lady Stark?"

"Just before we moved on Kings Landing" she answered "my brother Bran had made enquiries about it and gave me that certificate"

The High Septon nodded, as if the mention of Bran explained everything "Am I correct in assuming lord Tyrion is unaware of this?"

"Yes" said Sansa "He was being held captive when I found out"

"You see!" cut in lord Lydden "Lady Stark's only wish here is to play politics. She openly admits lord Tyrion knows nothing of their marriage status. This is a cynical plot to use him to gain control of the Westerlands"

Sansa jerked as if slapped "I want nothing to do with the Westerlands"

"You want our lord though"

"Enough!"

Bran's voice cut through the bickering, instantly silencing the room "The status of this marriage is for the High Septon to determine"

"Your Grace, High Septon - lord Tyrion is in no fit state to consent to this marriage. Annulling it is the right thing to do" said lord Lydden

"By that logic he is no state to consent to its annulment either" said the High Septon "Both parties must request an annulment. The vows taken at marriage cannot and should not be so easily set aside"

Ser Harys shot her a glare before appealing to the High Septon "Lady Stark made vows to another man after her marriage to lord Tyrion. Surely you can see she has no real claim to him"

"This is a unique situation," agreed the High Septon "but from what Maester Henly and lady Sansa have said lord Tyrion is quite comfortable with his wife, even in his compromised state"

"That may be true" said lord Lydden "but nobody else has been permitted access to lord Tyrion. I'd wager he'd take to my daughter's care just as easily"

"Quite right" said Ser Harys "Lord Tyrion's enthusiasm for women is well known. What man wouldn't enjoy the care of a pretty woman? I mean no disrespect to lady Stark but I'd say he'd enjoy any woman's attention"

Sansa held her head high, even as sniggering broke out around the room. They were trying to undermine her and it wouldn't work.

"This is a difficult situation" said Bran "and a decision I cannot make alone. Grand Maester Samwell, what do you think should be done?"

Sam seemed to shrink into his chair as the eyes of the room fell upon him "Well...we're all sat here deciding what's best for lord Tyrion. Why not ask what he wants?"

“Lord Tyrion is in no fit state to decide what he wants” snapped Maester Gallard, his eyes burning into Samwell

“That is untrue” said Henly “Lord Tyrion is not himself, but it’s quite clear what makes him comfortable and what unsettles him. His welfare must be the priority - and not politics”

“Agreed” said Bran, silencing Gallard before he could retort “High Septon, what are your thoughts?”

"I agree with the Grand Maester. Before I can decide on the validity of the marriage I'd like to see lord Tyrion with my own eyes"

"Your Grace, lord Tyrion has had only the same three visitors since he was rescued" warned Henly "Strangers entering his room will upset him"

"That may be true" said Bran, his mouth turning downwards "but it is the only way to move forwards on this matter. Lord Lydden - you and your daughter may join us. We will visit lord Tyrion and then decide on this situation"

Whispers erupted around the room at the ruling and Sansa's heart sank. She'd hoped the marriage certificate would be enough, but that wasn't the case. Control of the situation had been ripped from her hands and thrust onto Tyrion who really wasn't well enough to make a decision. It wasn't fair. He didn't understand what was at stake if she lost the hearing.

 _'Please Tyrion, don't let them use you'_ she thought

* * *

When the door opened and strange people came in Tyrion knew his time was up. He wound his hand tighter into his friend, pulling the ragged material as close to him as possible. What had he done wrong? It was true he didn’t know all the rules of this room - sometimes he missed his cell - but he’d done his best to be good.

The first person who came in was the man in grey, or Maester Henly as he’d heard Missandei call him. That wasn’t unusual. Sometimes the Maester would be in the room or Missandei would be. They were both nice enough, but it was Sansa he really wanted to see. A tremble went through him as more people came into the room who weren’t Sansa. They were going to hurt him; the pain never stayed away for long. 

He flinched as a hand landed on his arm, but it was only Missandei.

“It’s ok Tyrion, you’re safe” she said, offering him a smile “These people aren’t here to hurt you, they just want to visit-”

“You can go girl” cut in another voice

Tyrion glanced past Missandei to find a tall man with grey hair and a badger on his tunic. The man was frowning, waving his hand dismissively at Missandei. Tyrion’s heart sped up. He didn’t want Missandei to leave. She wasn’t Sansa but she was still nice to him - he didn’t want to be alone with these strangers. The Maester was stood at the other side of the bed and he didn’t look happy either.

“It’s alright my lady” said the Maester “I’ll remain with lord Tyrion”

Missandei frowned but nodded, causing Tyrion’s stomach to twist. He tugged against the sheets pinning him to the bed but they wouldn’t budge, and his ribs ached at the effort.

"I'll be back soon" promised Missandei, smoothing the blanket over him before heading towards the door

 _'No'_ he thought, squirming helplessly on the bed _'Please stay'_

It was no use. Imps couldn't ask for things, and Missandei carried on out of the room - closing the door with a soft thud that sent Tyrion into a panic. He was trapped on the bed in a room full of strangers. Somehow even more of them had come in. The man with a badger tunic was stood next to a girl with long brown hair, and in the corner of the room was a portly man wearing a white robe. As Tyrion's eyes drifted over the last two strangers, he had the unnatural sense that he knew them.

The first was a boy who seemed to be sitting on a chair with wheels. His brown eyes were watching Tyrion in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable, but there was something familiar about him too. The man next to him looked a little similar - both had dark hair and dark eyes, but this man was dressed in black and sadness seemed to be a permanent feature of his face.

Why were they here? He'd tried to be good, but it mustn't have been enough. They were here to punish him. Or maybe get rid of him. Tyrion's chest tightened as the man with a badger tunic approached him.

This was the end. Was that why Sansa wasn't here? Tyrion sniffed, heat prickling the back of his eyes. It would have been nice to see Sansa one last time - just to say thank you. She'd been so kind to him, even though he was an imp. 

"It is good to see you my lord" said badger man, staring down at him "I hear your recovery is progressing well"

Tyrion didn't like this man. There was something off about him. His tone was friendly but it was wrong - it didn't match his eyes.

Badger man gestured to the girl he'd been stood with "This is my daughter Jeyne, she's very keen to meet you my lord"

Tyrion's stomach twisted as the girl approached him. In desperation he looked to the Maester for help, but the man's face was set in a grim line. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad - nobody had hurt him yet at least.

The girl perched on the edge of the seat Sansa usually sat in and her father wandered away to the side of the room. It was all so strange. Why were they watching him? What was he supposed to do? The rules had changed again and no-one had told him. This was some kind of trick. Why did they keep calling him a lord? He wasn't a lord; he was an imp, a kinslayer, a little monster. They should know that. Cersei had made sure everybody would know.

He trembled beneath the tight sheets, moving his gaze warily to the girl sat beside him. There was something lurking in her face that was so familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Her father cleared his throat in the distance and that seemed to prompt the girl to take action.

Her mouth turned upwards, though it seemed to take a lot of effort "It is a pleasure to meet you m'lord"

Tyrion didn't answer and he didn't believe the girl. He shifted once again, hoping the sheets might loosen enough for him to move. Not that it would do much good. The last time he tried to get up his chest hurt and Sansa had told him he needed to stay still until he was better. There had to be some way to escape. Why were they all watching him? If they were going to hurt him just get on with it - he hated being stared at.

_"Look at the imp!" cackled one woman_

_"Twisted little freak" spat another_

_Hands reached out pulling him into the crowd and grabbing at what had once been his private area._

_"This supposed to be a lion?"_

The people. The street. The laughter.

The memory washed over Tyrion like a wave of poison, pulling his mind from the present to a place more awful than any nightmare. He could almost hear the laughter ringing in his ears and feel the hands taking hold of him. The memory made his skin crawl, sending a wave of nausea rolling through him even as the image faded from his mind.

"He's not well" said the sad man, looking imploringly at the boy in the chair "we shouldn't have come in here"

"We had to be here" answered the boy, staring at Tyrion as if he could see what he had just seen

"Jeyne, perhaps lord Tyrion could use some water" prompted Badger man

A shudder went through Tyrion as the memory lingered - he didn't want to remember it. The girl had scrambled from the chair at her father's order and returned a moment later with a half-filled cup of water. He wound his fingers into his friend but it wasn't giving him the comfort it usually did. Dampness crept into the corners of his eyes as the girl leaned over him with the cup.

"Sitting up might be best dear" advised badger man through gritted teeth

Whatever was lurking in the girl's face deepened as she set the cup to one side and took hold of the sheets. She pulled them down to his waist in a single tug before she froze.

Tyrion's stomach was churning and bile was clawing up his throat, but he finally recognized the look on the girl's face. It was so familiar because he'd seen it all his life - wherever he went people looked at him with disgust.

Her eyes raked over his exposed upper body before she took two quick steps back, shaking her head.

"What are you doing?" hissed badger man

"I can't" said the girl, covering her mouth as if she too felt sick "Father, please don't make me do this"

Her father's eyes narrowed to slits "This is your duty. He's the lord of Casterly Rock"

"No...please" she begged "look at him"

They were. Everyone was looking at him, and there was no-one to help him. The dampness in his eyes spilled over, leaving trails of weakness down his cheeks. The sheets had been pulled back, giving him some freedom from his prison but his body was too weak to use it. His right arm was hanging uselessly beside him and his friend was clutched in his left hand. Tyrion ran his fingers deeper into the ragged material hoping to feel its familiar comfort, only to feel nothing.

Badger man and the girl were arguing. Voices were everywhere in the room, but all Tyrion could focus on was the patchwork blue blanket. It had been lying on top of him since Sansa gave it him last night and had been pulled away from him by the girl. The corner of it was just about in reach, but he'd have to release his friend. A tremor went through Tyrion as he let go of the rag and managed to grab the edge of the blue blanket. He pulled it closer, winding his fingers into the thick material.

"Sansa?" he said desperately, hoping her gift might offer some of her comfort.

The room fell silent at the name, making Tyrion's stomach roll once again. It was wrong to want things, but everybody was staring at him, and the memory wouldn’t leave him alone. He couldn’t help but think if Sansa was here things would be better, that maybe he wouldn’t be so scared.

The man who'd been standing in the corner of the room moved towards him then. He was a large man dressed in a white robe with a gold coloured sash hanging over his shoulders.

"What was that lord Tyrion?" he asked gently

They were all watching again. He'd made a mistake; they would definitely hurt him now.

“Can we do anything for you?” asked the man

Tyrion shrunk into the bed, not daring to speak. They were all looking at him; waiting for an answer. His heart thumped too quickly in his chest as he glanced over all the faces in the room, before landing on the only one that might help him. 

"Sansa...see Sansa please…" he whispered, staring desperately at the sad man's face "Please Jon..."

Jon?

The man’s eyes widened at the name, and the rest of the strangers looked every bit as surprised as Tyrion felt. He wasn’t sure where the name had come from, but it seemed right. The man was so familiar. 

Jon stepped closer to the edge of the bed and Tyrion flinched back as he approached. Pieces of memory were fighting to get to the surface and if they made it Tyrion thought things might make more sense. But the memories could be bad. Like the street and the hands and the laughter.

"Don't worry Tyrion, Sansa will come and see you soon - I promise" said Jon. He glanced at the boy in the chair as if daring him to disagree.

The boy nodded, turning to the man in white who was stood beside Tyrion "Are you satisfied High Septon?"

"I've seen more than enough" said the man

"Good" said the Maester, glaring at badger man and his daughter "I believe lord Tyrion is in need of some rest"

"Agreed" said the boy in the chair "there will be a short break before the hearing resumes"

Tyrion trembled on the bed, wishing he could be anywhere else. At least in his cell he could be on his own. He was vaguely aware of the door opening and the strangers leaving, until only the Maester and the man in white remained.

"You've not had a pleasant life, have you my lord?" said the man, easing the blankets over him once more. His eyes wandered over the blue one Tyrion clutched "That is an interesting blanket"

He nodded warily, tugging it closer.

"It's new" said Maester Henly, moving to the table of supplies at the other side of the room

"Oh, it looks it" agreed the other man "Did somebody give it to you?"

Tyrion nodded again, adding softly "...from Sansa"

The man's smile widened "A thoughtful gift indeed”

* * *

“Why do you look so worried?”

“I’m not”

“If you’re that worried about losing the imp just go to his room and bed him. That’ll soon shut lord Lydden up”

Sansa whirled on her sister, levelling her with a glare “Don’t be ridiculous, and don’t call him that!”

Arya rolled her eyes “You’re worrying for nothing Sansa. Even if Bran decides against you we both know Tyrion isn’t going to the Westerlands”

That was true, she supposed. There wasn’t a chance in the seven hells she’d let lord Lydden get Tyrion in his clutches.

“Sorry about the bedding joke” muttered Arya after a moment “I forget you’re sensitive about that kind of thing”

“It’s fine, I know you didn’t mean it” sighed Sansa, rubbing tiredly at her face.

Arya was only trying to lighten the mood, but Sansa couldn’t help but worry about the outcome of the hearing. If the High Septon dissolved her marriage to Tyrion and she took him North it could start a war.

At Maester Henly’s request only a few people had been allowed to see Tyrion. Bran had decided he and the High Septon would go, along with Henly, lord Lydden and his daughter Jeyne. Sansa had wanted to go too, but the King had stubbornly refused her request claiming it could bias Tyrion’s reaction. Instead she’d been allowed to choose one person to go as a witness in her place. Maester Henly was already going so Sansa had asked Jon to go too. He was the best option she had. Sansa trusted him to protect Tyrion if anything went wrong, and Tyrion was friends with him - though he was unlikely to know that in his current state.

All Sansa had been left to do was wait in the throne room until Bran continued the hearing. Varys and Sam had been talking by the throne but had been called away a few minutes ago by a squire who'd announced the hearing would resume shortly. Maester Gallard and Ser Harys were deep in discussion across the room from them, though both kept lifting their heads to glare at her. 

"I didn't think you'd do it" said Arya, drawing her attention

"Do what?"

"Use the marriage certificate" said Arya, shrugging "I'm happy you finally admitted how you feel"

"I've admitted nothing" said Sansa sharply

"You claimed Tyrion as your husband in front of the King, the High Septon and a packed throne room. How do you think people will see that?"

"He's my friend" said Sansa "I'm only doing what's necessary to help him"

Arya's grey eyes searched hers "I hope you know what you're doing Sansa"

Sansa did too. In truth she had no real plan on how to navigate this hearing. Most of her planning had focused on emphasising Tyrion's need to recover with trusted faces around him rather than strangers. She'd never expected to bring up their marriage status, and handling the fallout from this would be problematic to say the least.

All thought of the potential implications of her actions was quickly swept away as the side door opened and Jon re-entered the room. His face was heavy with a guilt that made Sansa's stomach lurch.

"How is he?" she asked, as soon as Jon reached them. She ignored Arya rolling her eyes beside her.

Jon hesitated, rubbing at his face "He's alright. Better now we've gone I imagine"

"What happened?" she demanded

He shook his head "I'll tell you everything later, Bran is already on his way back in. Don't worry - the Maester and Missandei have stayed with Tyrion"

Sure enough the doors opened again and Bran returned with Varys, Sam and the High Septon. Lord Lydden had returned as well, but without his daughter. Sansa caught Jon's arm, halting his steps.

"Jon, please" she said, her voice trembling "Did he..."

She couldn't bring herself to finish the question; did Tyrion take to Jeyne Lydden? Part of Sansa wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. Fortunately Jon understood.

"He asked for you" said Jon, a small smile on his face

Instant relief flooded Sansa, followed by warmth that spread right through her body. Was that why lord Lydden had returned without his daughter, because Tyrion had spoken her name instead? The rush of warmth flooding her was as comforting as it was dangerous. If left unchecked it threatened to expose the truth she was careful to hide.

Sansa drew in a breath as Jon and Arya returned to their seats and Bran was placed on the throne once again. Revealing her marriage status had been an unexpected development, and navigating the ramifications needed her mind to be clear. Tyrion was her friend, and she'd made a promise to him - there was nothing more to her actions than protecting him.

Varys' voice brought quiet to the room as the hearing resumed "My lords and ladies. After visiting lord Tyrion and much deliberation, the King and his advisors have reached a verdict on this matter"

Bran took over "It is the belief of this council that returning lord Tyrion to the Westerlands in his current condition is not in his best interests. On the issue of lady Sansa's request to take him North, the High Septon has further questions"

Sansa's elation at Bran's ruling was quickly drowned out by nerves. Tyrion was safe from the lords of the Westerlands but there was still work to be done to take him home. One look at the High Septon's face told Sansa where this was going - the questioning would be about their marriage. Her stomach lurched at the thought, and Sansa tried to clamp down the emotions stirring deep in her heart. This would need to be handled carefully.

"Lady Sansa, I'm aware of many of the details surrounding your marriage to lord Tyrion but I would like to clarify them if you don't mind?" said the High Septon

"Certainly" said Sansa, inclining her head

"You became a ward of Cersei Lannister following your father's death?"

"Yes, though hostage might be more accurate"

"It was during this time you were wed to Tyrion Lannister?"

"His father arranged the match after Joffrey set me aside"

The High Septon nodded along "My lady, did you make your vows willingly to lord Tyrion?"

Two different paths forward, and there was no way of knowing which would lead her to Tyrion, or what the High Septon wanted to hear. In the end Sansa decided on the truth.

"I stood in the Sept and said the words, but at the time they were just words" admitted Sansa "I was a prisoner and I didn't know Tyrion - but he was kind to me. He didn't consummate our marriage despite pressure from his father to do so"

"I see" said the High Septon "My lady, might I ask what you wish to happen? In light of the circumstances surrounding the marriage and the fact it is unconsummated I will annul it if you wish. Usually both parties must request an annulment but I will make an exception in this case"

Responsibility fell heavily around Sansa's shoulders. Whatever choice she made wouldn't just impact her but Tyrion too.

_"Maybe we should have stayed married"_

A soft smile drifted through her mind, along with Tyrion's melodic voice. It seemed a lifetime ago since they'd been in Winterfell. Had Tyrion meant what he said? It was impossible to know what Tyrion wanted at the moment; she only knew what he needed, and that was to go home with her. Sansa would do anything to get him there, but there had to be a way that could suit both of them. She had no idea how Tyrion felt about her, and her own feelings were buried so deeply it could take a lifetime to sort through them.

Sansa lifted her gaze to meet the High Septon's not unfriendly face "When Tyrion and I married neither of us wanted it, I can say that with certainty. When we met each other again at Winterfell...things changed. We both thought the marriage was void - we never discussed it. But over our time at Winterfell we developed a friendship..."

She trailed off, overly aware of the crowd behind her. Speaking of the North and politics was easy. Speaking of personal relations and what truly mattered was as terrifying as the long night.

"If circumstances had been different I don't know how things might have developed between us" continued Sansa, swallowing past the lump in her throat "I don’t request an annulment. There's no way of knowing how Tyrion feels...but I don't want him to be on his own"

"When I saw lord Tyrion I'd say his feelings were quite clear" said the High Septon, offering her a smile "The vows of marriage are sacred and should be treated as such. Lord Tyrion cannot request an annulment in his condition, nor can he can consent to the marriage continuing. Given that he is unaware the marriage still exists I find this situation particularly difficult to rule on. I am in agreement with the King and Grand Maester that lord Tyrion should not be returned to the Westerlands, but I'm not blind to the political problems of sending him North either"

Lord Lydden was particularly quiet across the floor, but Ser Harys wasn't willing to give up.

"High Septon, at the very least the marriage should be dissolved" he said "as you say lord Tyrion isn't even aware of it"

The High Septon stared between them for a moment before shaking his head "No, I will not annul the marriage. Lady Sansa has not requested such, and lord Tyrion is in no state to"

"So you'll allow him to be taken North?" spluttered Ser Harys

"Subject to certain conditions" said Bran, silencing the man's protests

"I have offered lady Sansa the chance to annul the marriage, and when lord Tyrion has recovered sufficient awareness I will extend the same opportunity to him - subject to the union remaining unconsummated" said the High Septon

Samwell shifted in his seat "When lord Tyrion travels North he must be accompanied by a number of Lannister guards, subject to approval by the King. These guards will be under orders to remain at Winterfell unless they are given a direct order by lord Tyrion when he is in a coherent state"

Sansa nodded mutely. The Northerners wouldn't like Lannister guards coming North but she would have to make it work.

"Given the circumstances surrounding your marriage, and your illegal marriage to Ramsay Bolton I will require evidence of your commitment to lord Tyrion" said the High Septon "The sanctity of marriage is of paramount importance, and that you claim Tyrion Lannister as your husband should be made clear to all. At least until such time as he is able to make an informed decision regarding the marriage"

"How can I do that?" she asked scrunching her nose

Bran looked between Sam and the High Septon before speaking "We've decided a token of your choice will be enough. They are generally used for betrothals but in this situation you will use it signal your intentions towards lord Tyrion"

"And show Westeros you are honoring your vows as his wife" added the High Septon

Lannister guards and a token of her intentions. Sansa's mouth twitched upwards. It was a decent outcome. She could oversee Tyrion's care and bring him home, but their marriage wasn't absolute either. That had been her biggest concern - being forced to choose between annulment and committing to the marriage. One meant losing Tyrion and the other meant having to tell him they were married whether he wanted to be or not. This way nothing was final - it was a temporary arrangement that would hopefully save both of them from unwanted suitors.

"Are these terms acceptable lady Stark?" asked Bran, his dark eyes glinting at her from the throne

"Yes" she said, allowing herself a smile

"Before lord Tyrion leaves his guard must be in place and you must give him a token deemed acceptable by the High Septon before then" said Bran “The bond of marriage is sacred as the High Septon mentioned, but these are unusual circumstances. If you have a change of heart an annulment can still be granted until you present lord Tyrion with a token - at that time you will forfeit your right to an annulment, and only lord Tyrion will then have a right to request one”

That wouldn’t happen; Sansa wouldn’t change her mind, and Tyrion still had the option to end the marriage. She’d never anticipated it would be this difficult to take Tyrion home, but the conditions Bran had set out were easily managed and would hopefully reassure both the North and Six Kingdoms that she didn’t mean to start a war.

"Very well" agreed Sansa “I accept the terms as you’ve outlined them”

"Wait!" growled lord Lydden, rising to his feet. His face was twisted in anger as he sneered across at her "You wanted an independent North, yet now you want to be lady Lannister too"

Sansa's face tightened and she lifted her voice to make certain the room heard "I am a Stark of Winterfell and I always will be"

Her words had the desired effect as the Northerners roared to life behind her; laughing and heckling lord Lydden.

“You want control of the West” snapped Ser Harys “Marriage to lord Tyrion means you’ll be the lady of Casterly Rock. You want independence, but you’ll control the West through him!”

 _‘Like you wanted to?’_ she thought as the Northerners grew louder 

"Tyrion is the lord of Casterly Rock, and I make no claim to his land or titles" announced Sansa, turning to Bran "I ask that the King of the Six Kingdoms assumes control of the Westerlands in the interests of both our Kingdoms, until lord Tyrion is well enough to take his rightful place"

"Done" said Bran, turning to lord Lydden and Ser Harys "Have you any further issues to raise?"

The Westerlands side of the hall wasn’t happy. Maester Gallard was glaring at Sam and Ser Harys was shuffling grumpily from foot to foot, giving him a resemblance to the rooster sigil on his tunic. The Northerners didn’t care at all for Tyrion, but they’d won him from the Westerlands and were keen to make that victory known.

Lord Lydden looked for a moment as if he was going to continue to argue, before stiffly bowing his head to Bran "No further issues, your Grace"

"Then I hereby bring a close to this hearing" said Bran, his mouth twitching upwards "Lady Sansa Stark will assume all control over her husband’s care, including the right to take him to the independent North subject to the conditions discussed today"

Sansa couldn’t help but smile as the outcome of the hearing was made official. It was done; Tyrion was safe. More than anything she wanted to go straight to Tyrion and check on him but the tiny voice of doubt reared its ugly head as it had since last night.

_“…I doubt you know what happened to my brother's first wife. I never found out what happened to her after she left the Rock but I can't imagine she lasted long after abuse like that”_

They were Cersei’s words - surely they were lies. She should forget about them. Sansa knew who Tyrion was; she trusted him.

Sansa sighed, watching Varys as he spoke to Bran. She would know no peace until she had answers, and there were very few people who could provide them.

* * *

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost”

Jon felt like he had. Surely that man in the bed hadn’t been Tyrion Lannister.

The light breeze that blew through Kings Landing was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the throne room. He’d lingered long enough after the hearing to tell Sansa and Arya what had happened with lord Lydden before escaping the castle for some freedom.

“How bad was it?” asked Ser Davos as they moved further from the castle

"Whatever you're imagining it's worse"

The older man sighed "I thought it'd be bad. The rumours I've heard aren't pleasant"

“I don’t understand” said Jon “I’ve seen terrible things, but what happened to Tyrion seems crueler than anything”

“Made all the worse by who did it”

“I can’t even think about that” said Jon, shaking his head “I thought Sansa hated me when we were children, but that’s nothing compared to this”

“At least your sister won the hearing. Letting lord Lydden near Tyrion didn’t sit right with me”

“It wasn’t right” said Jon, disgust crawling through him “His daughter was all smiles until she actually saw Tyrion. The way she looked at him…Davos it was wrong. No-one deserves to be treated like that”

“Poor sod. He’s not got any idea what’s going on either”

“I don’t know how he’ll recover from this” said Jon, stopping at the top of the hill “I should have stopped Daenerys sooner. When she turned on Tyrion I should have intervened”

Davos patted his shoulder “This isn’t your fault”

“Yes it is” said Jon, spotting the familiar black shape of Drogon in the distance sky “It fell to Sansa to fix my mistakes and now she’s picking up the pieces. I should have done more. I knew she cared for Tyrion and I did nothing to help him”

“You were in love yourself” said Ser Davos “No-one blames you for wanting to see the best in Daenerys. Tyrion trusted her too, and willingly agreed to the exchange”

“Aye, but she betrayed him and then his sister tortured him for weeks…I can’t understand it Davos. The politics and cruelty of this place - no wonder my family doesn’t do well in Kings Landing”

“You won’t be staying with Bran then?”

“No, I’ll go back North with Sansa and then go beyond the wall. I’d like to return to the true North”

Davos nodded “You’ll excuse me if I don’t follow ya. Your brother Bran has asked me to stay here as his Master of Ships”

Jon smiled “I can’t think of anyone better”

“I can, but I’m not going to tell him. I’ll keep an eye on Bran for ya, don’t worry about that”

Jon nodded gratefully, but it wasn’t Bran he was worried about. Sansa was balancing so many things on her shoulders with little help. As soon as they went North she would be named Queen and her burden would get heavier. Jon knew he would be no real help to her, and Arya was much the same. It was obvious enough whose help Sansa would want, but Tyrion was in no position to give it.

* * *

Varys observed his guest as she sipped her wine. The hearing had gone on far longer than anyone expected and Varys had been quite certain the lady of Winterfell would go straight to Tyrion when it was done. It wasn't long after he returned to the Tower of the Hand that lady Sansa arrived.

"I must say I'm surprised by your visit my lady" confessed Varys "Surely you don't mean to leave Kings Landing immediately?"

It took her a moment to respond "Oh no. Tyrion isn't well enough to travel yet. The Maester wants to set his shoulder in the next day or so and he'll need a few days to recover after that before we can move him"

Varys nodded. That was what he'd expected to happen, but it only made lady Sansa's reason for being here more intriguing - she wasn't prone to social visits.

"There's the trial for Cersei Lannister and Qyburn too" said Varys "I assume you'll want to be here for that"

Her face hardened "Of course. What they did to Tyrion was monstrous"

"Without doubt. King Bran is organising the case against them and showed me some of the evidence he'd gathered"

The mere thought of the jars made his skin crawl. Varys had seen many monsters in his time but this was somehow worse. A fact he blamed on his fondness for Tyrion Lannister. Lady Sansa's face had darkened at the mention of the jars, but the upcoming trial didn't seem to be the reason for her visit either. It was obvious she'd come to talk about something, and Varys had only one idea left.

"I understand you made a visit last night" said Varys "how was the fallen Queen?"

Sansa's blue eyes snapped to his, confirming his suspicion "You have spies everywhere don't you, lord Varys?"

He shrugged "I may have been away from Kings Landing for some time but my little birds haven't left. Qyburn found a number of them, but not all of them"

The young woman slumped in her seat "I don't know why I went - she was as vile as ever. I think I just wanted to see her in a cell"

"Many would share your enthusiasm for that"

"She deserves to suffer"

"If that's what troubles you my lady, I can assure you King Bran intends for you to join him in deciding Cersei's fate"

She nodded, biting her lip - an action Varys found wholly out of place for Sansa Stark, who had marched on Kings Landing with relentless determination. Whatever she'd come to him for wasn't to do with politics. 

"Is something troubling you my lady?" he asked softly

Sansa dropped her gaze, staring at the wine glass as she spoke "When I was leaving, Cersei said something that I can't get out of my head"

"What did she say?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper "She said Tyrion had been married before, that she doubted his first wife lasted long after abuse like that"

Anger slipped through Varys like a snake as Sansa admitted what had happened. Part of him couldn't help but admire Cersei's ability to manipulate. She'd managed to take a terrible crime and turn it into a weapon against Sansa - one that would speak to the lady of Winterfell's most personal fears.

"My lady, I fear it's not my place to tell this story"

She lifted her eyes to his, and for a moment Varys could see the pool of vulnerability lurking beneath the layers of ice. Of course she would worry. It was easy to see how deeply she cared for Tyrion - she'd spent most of the afternoon fighting to take him to Winterfell, and gone so far as to claim him as her husband. She'd done all of these things despite the vicious seeds of doubt Cersei had planted last night, but she couldn't control her fear any longer. That was why she was here; to know if the man she'd just claimed as hers had a dark side she was unaware of.

Varys sighed, nodding his head "Very well. I do know what Cersei was speaking of but she has given you a rather twisted impression of it"

"It’s true?" asked Sansa, sadness passing through her eyes

"Not in the way you think" said Varys "though it is a thoroughly unpleasant tale. Are you sure you want to hear this?"

Sansa nodded "Please. I know Tyrion - I trust him. I just can't..."

She trailed off but Varys knew what she was going to say.

"I will tell you what I know, but my knowledge does not come from lord Tyrion himself. When he came to Kings Landing to serve as Hand of the King in his father's stead I made certain to know everything about him - including his first marriage" said Varys "When Tyrion was ten and six he was out with his brother Jamie when they happened across a young woman. She was a wheelwright's orphan and had been the victim of an attempted rape. Jamie chased off the attackers, and Tyrion took the young lady to an inn to recover from the ordeal. I believe they ate and drank and Tysha took lord Tyrion into her bed. By morning he'd fallen in love with her and they were married by a drunken Septon"

Sansa was trying to keep a neutral face as she listened, but her eyes were filled with a sadness Varys couldn't quite place.

"He loved her?" asked Sansa

"He did" said Varys "They lived as husband and wife for two weeks until lord Tywin found out. Lord Tywin had them both brought to Casterly rock and ordered Jamie to confess. You see Tysha wasn't a wheelwrights orphan - she was a whore. Do not think too badly of Ser Jamie. He genuinely loved his little brother and thought it was time he had a woman. I believe his idea was to give Tyrion some confidence by letting him believe a woman genuinely wanted to share his bed. He never imagined Tyrion would marry the girl"

"His father had the marriage annulled?"

"Yes, though I fear that isn't the end of the story" said Varys, his stomach churning "After Jamie confessed to his brother, lord Tywin had Tysha brought to the barracks and had his guards take her. He made sure Tyrion watched everything"

Sansa drew in a sharp breath, her hand covering her mouth.

"Tywin ordered each guard who took her to pay her a silver coin. By the end the coins were spilling from her hands. When it was over she was sent from Casterly Rock and the marriage was annulled"

Tears slipped down Sansa's face, but her voice was laced with anger "How...how could anyone be that cruel?"

"Lord Tywin hated Tyrion, and was furious that his son dared to wed a commoner. What happened with Tysha was both a cruel lesson and a punishment"

"What happened to her?"

Varys shook his head "That I do not know. It took place many years ago. If I'd known of it at the time I might have been able to locate her, but it would be impossible now. Lord Tywin did his best to keep that story hidden, but guards talk and I caught the whispers of it when I looked into lord Tyrion's past"

The young woman wiped at her eyes, drawing in several deep breaths.

"My lady, please do not think too badly of lord Tyrion. He fell in love with the first woman who showed an interest in him, not knowing his brother had arranged the meeting"

"How could I think badly of Tyrion?" asked Sansa, her blue eyes hardening "None of that was his fault"

"He made the mistake of marrying a commoner" said Varys, spreading his hands "No woman who was nearly raped would then take another man to bed a few hours later - he should have seen that"

"He was young, he didn't know any better" said Sansa, adding in a whisper "he thought it was love"

Varys paused, watching the lady of Winterfell. It occurred to him Tyrion wasn't the only one who'd once foolishly believed in love.

"Does this alleviate your concerns regarding lord Tyrion?" he asked

Sansa pushed up clumsily from her chair "Yes...thank you"

She nodded her head in thanks before shuffling towards the door. Of all the things Varys had thought she might be here to discuss he'd never imagined it might be Tysha. He watched Sansa leave before turning to the stack of paper on his desk. If nothing else this encounter had proven Cersei could still cause problems from the black cells.

* * *

Finding Tyrion asleep was both a blessing and a curse. According to Missandei he'd barely slept all day and seemed determined to stay awake before eventually drifting off. A lump formed in Sansa's throat as she adjusted the blankets over him. After what Jon had told her it wasn't hard to imagine what he'd been staying awake for.

Poor Tyrion. He'd been surrounded by strangers, and Jeyne Lydden had been too disgusted to even pretend to care for him. He must have been so scared, and in his fear he'd asked for her. Warmth trickled through Sansa, easing a little of the coldness that had gripped her since talking to Varys.

How could she have even entertained the idea Cersei was telling the truth?

 _'I'm so sorry Tyrion'_ she thought _'I never should have doubted you'_

Shame ate at Sansa's heart for what she'd feared. Of course Tyrion had been the victim and not the monster. Tywin Lannister was a monster though. How anyone could do that to their own son was disturbing beyond belief. Tyrion might have been naive and made a foolish mistake but forcing him to watch the woman he'd been in love with be repeatedly raped was nothing short of traumatising.

That had happened years ago, yet Cersei had still been willing to use it against her brother. Twisting the narrative to make it seem as if Tyrion had been an abusive husband - and like a fool Sansa had let the idea take root. It was no more than a vicious lie. She could imagine Tyrion had been a doting husband during his two week marriage, unaware his wife had deceived him and blissfully ignorant of the consequences that would follow.

She reached for Tyrion's hand, folding hers around his as he clutched the blue blanket she'd given him. According to Henly he'd abandoned the ragged one in favour of this when he asked for her.

“You’re my husband” she whispered “for now at least. I promise I won’t hurt you Tyrion”

She’d already decided to not tell Tyrion of the hearing and their marriage. When he was strong enough she would tell him, but in his current condition she didn’t want to confuse him - or make it seem like she was manipulating him. The lords of the Westerlands needed no more reason to dislike her and telling him of their marriage when he couldn’t fully understand it seemed wrong.

The hearing had been a convoluted mess of politics and power plays, but Sansa couldn't argue with the results. She had waived her right to an annulment and would need to find a token to give Tyrion, but it wasn't a permanent situation. When Tyrion was well enough he could end the marriage. Something twisted deep in Sansa at the thought, but she quickly pushed it aside. That didn't matter now; there would be time to figure everything out when they were home. 

Tyrion's face tightened as he slept, a barely audible moan slipping from him.

"Shh, you're ok" she soothed, stroking her fingers against his cheek

As if Jeyne Lydden would know how to settle him. Jon had told her the girl's eyes had filled with disgust as soon as she saw Tyrion, and she had quickly given up the pretense of caring for him. Sansa's jaw tightened at the thought; why was everybody so cruel to him? He was different, but he was still human. He had thoughts, feelings, hopes and dreams too. As horrible as it was for Tyrion Jeyne Lydden's reaction had quickly ended her father's hopes of ensnaring him.

It was almost laughable that the girl had thought herself capable of charming Tyrion - she was no Margaery Tyrell. Besides, the girl wouldn't have known how to care for him. She wouldn't know that stroking his face was the best way to lull him back to sleep, or how sensitive he was to anyone touching the scar on his hand and the one around his knee. There was so much more to Tyrion than a name and his size, but no-one other than her seemed to see it.

Tyrion squirmed against the sheets holding him still, his face twisting in fear. Another nightmare. Maester Henly told her it was a good sign, and that he'd recognised Jon today was very promising. The more Tyrion remembered the more he would remember what he'd suffered though.

"Tyrion" she called softly, shaking his arm "you're safe Tyrion, open your eyes"

It was important he slept, but Sansa hated seeing him trapped in nightmares. Besides, she wanted to see his eyes. All day she'd been kept away from him. It might be selfish, but part of her needed to see him awake.

He struggled for a few more moments before his eyes opened.

"Hello" she said, drawing his attention

Instantly the fear melted from his eyes, replaced by a hopeful light "Sansa?"

A smile stretched across her face as she answered "I'm sorry it took me so long today, but I'm here now"

He smiled slightly, tugging his blanket closer. The ragged one was dangling at the side of the bed and Henly had suggested leaving it there for now, until they were completely sure Tyrion had left it behind.

"Did you have a good day?" she asked

Tyrion shook his head nervously "...missed you"

Sansa's heart swelled as she answered "I missed you too"

* * *

“What news do you have?” asked Cersei, studying the guard’s face

This one had come before with an older guard to ask for the names of any witnesses she wanted to call on at trial but he’d returned alone twice since. Well he wasn’t really alone. The Unsullied guards were watching and as soon as he came near her cell they had their spears at the ready. Alone, Malcolm wasn’t allowed into her cell but that hardly mattered - Cersei had soon realized the unsullied didn’t speak the common tongue. When he came to see her he brought the same folded letter with the Hand of the King seal. It was a useless document - all it contained was details on cleaning up Kings Landing from the battle. Nobody else knew that. The Unsullied saw a document they couldn’t read with an official seal and let Malcom come to her cell door.

“She won the hearing” said Malcolm “she’s going to take him North”

“And?” she demanded “What else?”

Malcolm was eager to please, but that was to be expected. Cersei had quite convinced him she was his only chance for survival.

His eyes lit up “Turns out they’re still married”

“Impossible”

“It wasn’t annulled” said Malcolm, as if it was interesting gossip “She wants the marriage to carry on too! The High Septon offered to annul it but she said no”

No. That couldn’t be possible. Cersei’s hands curled into fists as hot rage burned through her veins. The Stark bitch could not be allowed to get her hands on Casterly Rock.

“This is good news right?” said Malcolm “If he goes North he’s not going to care about punishing us”

Cersei fought to control her face “No, if anything your situation has become far worse. If the wolves control my little brother they will act on his behalf, and I don’t expect the Northerners will have forgotten the years of war between us. She came here last night you know - I know she plans on revenge”

The colour drained from his face “What?”

“It’s more important than ever you complete your task”

He nodded quickly “I’ve not forgot - the imp dies”

“Yes. When he dies all knowledge of who hurt him dies too, and the wolves will have no claim to the Westerlands”

“Don’t worry, we’ll handle it” said Malcolm, nervously bobbing his head

Good. When Tyrion was dead she would be the last Lannister. A trial would be difficult to win, but her brother’s death would improve her chances. His side of the story would be lost forever and Qyburn would back whatever lies she told. Even if she did lose, the war was far from over. Cersei had no intention of going peacefully to her death, and the divide in the Lannister ranks offered her plenty of opportunities. 


End file.
